A Honourable Forgery
by Zizalada
Summary: Act 3 of Sira's story, the lowlife scammer who wished to be a noble but ended up Dragonborn. The future of Tamriel rests on her sword and her ability to convince everyone that she's worthy of being followed. She now wants to put her web of lies to the service of humankind. Will the trappings of power and prestige tempt her away from her duty? Sequel to The Shadow You Can't Escape.
1. Letters from the study hall

ACT III: A Honourable Forgery

 _"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade."_ _  
\- Lord Byron_

 _"The best liar is he who makes the smallest amount of lying go the longest way."_ _  
\- Samuel Butler_

* * *

from the Study Hall

Tirdas, 21 of Rain's Hand, 4E 202  
Dear Aela:  
After some minor issues down the road, we have reached Winterhold all right. My pet mage has aced his admission's exams and we are nicely settled. So far, so good. We got here Sundas afternoon, so I've only had the chance to have a very quick glimpse at the library. It is huge. May even be bigger than our entire hall, and all full of books! The librarian is an old Orc called Urag, who, of course, won't give me the time of day – he thinks I'm an illiterate housecarl, and as far as he's concerned, if I cared about magic I would've enrolled in the College myself.  
Fortunately, Marcurio was taken to do the rounds with each instructor, on his first day, and apparently impressed everybody. He'll gain Urag's respect quickly, I hope. The dorms are comfy enough, although a lot quieter than our whelp room. Empty beds are nowhere near scarce, so I got my own. A lot of students, especially the higher-level ones, keep ale and brandy under their beds, and sleeping tree sap seems to be a popular past time, too. I always thought mage types were into more ascetic lifestyles? Or is it the Greybeards I'm thinking about?  
Maybe all those mages who go mad and start terrorising towns are just high?  
The town itself is small and there doesn't seem to be much to do. The other students seem nice, but shy – I had to switch into hide armour, it scares them less. Apparently a lot of them were constantly cussed as kids. I can hear you calling them milkdrinkers and slapping them all, if you were here.  
Everything moves at a different pace here: lectures are long, expeditions are planned weeks in advance, and students walk slowly while heatedly debating things. Apparently if you're trying to acquire a thousand years of accumulated knowledge, there's no need to get anything done before lunch.  
I miss you all.  
Love,  
Sira  
P.S.: Tell Farkas he owes me 50 septims: there is a nord here, his name is Odmund. He makes Hadvar sound like an uncouth brute, but is a bit on the pasty side. I'd take him adventuring outdoors if it weren't always freezing.

* * *

Marcurio, Onmund the Paladin (who doesn't know Marcurio calls him that), and a slim female Dunmer were gathered around a cheese wheel, sharing notes about a book on Illusion. I had nothing else better to do (as usual) after a morning of being frowned at by Urag, and was acutely hungry anyway, so I approached them and started slicing the cheese for everyone.  
"You were at the library earlier" said the Dunmer.  
I didn't notice when, exactly, they had all raised their heads and began staring at me.  
"Shit, you caught me. Please don't report me to Mirabelle." I replied, blushing a bit more sincerely than I'd have liked. Hopefully appealing to her female complicity would work – although Marcurio didn't think so, judging from his face.  
"I won't. But I don't think she'd mind, either. If you wish to learn, there's no need to be ashamed of it. We can help you, too." She said. She probably meant to be welcoming, but I felt a bit like I was an object of charity. Oh, little Sira, if you're so hungry, feel free to pick up some leftovers after supper… I had forgotten that feeling.  
I stared at Marcurio. He was supposed to be my Thane, after all. He could send me away. He didn't.  
Instead, Odmund intervened.  
"If you could choose one spell you'd like to do, which one would it be, by the way?"  
Ah, this kid knows shame all too well. Divines bless him. I thought of Esbern, that soft grandpa who could kill Thalmor justiciars with the same ease Aela or Farkas would dispose of common bandits.  
"An Atronach, definitely. They seem like a life-saver."  
"Interesting. So you'd use magic to watch your back, then. Frost or flame?"  
"Flame."  
"You didn't even stop to think about it."  
"I like fire better. Almost everyone here is too comfortable with cold anyway."  
Marcurio didn't handle being outstaged from his Paladin's attention, clearly, because he immediately intervened.  
"I really shouldn't let you be so lazy all day. Starting tomorrow you'll come with us to Conjuration practice. You'll see, your atronach will be deadly."  
What sick game is he playing at? I can still beat him to a pulp!  
"Thanks, I guess." I said, patting him on the shoulder.

* * *

Fredas, 1st of Second Seed, 4E 202  
Dear Sira:  
Erik the Slayer is living up to his name at last! A slight recklessness of Njada's behalf, which could've ended up badly for both of them, ended up on 8 dead bandits and a lot of skooma confiscated. Should I congratulate him on your behalf? I know he'd appreciate it.  
Jobs and assignments abound still, of course. We need one or two more members, I think, but I feel the others are not taking the issue seriously enough. They're all too happy to have jobs to choose from, but then some just don't get done. What do you think of offering a 200-septim reward to the next Companion who brings a new recruit? The whelps love some competition, and would boost morale.  
Amren asked about you and sends you a deep hug. I trust you're not doing anything dishonourable? everything is fine with his family. Aela apologizes for not writing back, her shoulder is sprained and she's been banned from using her left arm for two weeks (as if we weren't short-staffed already!). She threatens to harm me if I don't tell you to write to her again. Send my regards to the Mage too, please don't drive him mad.  
Come home soon.  
Sincerely,  
Vilkas

* * *

Turdas, 5th of Second Seed  
My dearest Aela:  
Apparently part of the problems around can be blamed on the fact that Jarl Korir has a completely useless steward. When I say useless, I mean proud of the fact that he does nothing. For some reason, everyone at the Longhouse has assumed him to be a powerful mage with links to the College, but I asked around and nobody knows him, so he just sits at the inn and drinks all day.  
He's quite generous when buying you dinner.  
Also, tell Vilkas he's an asshole for suggesting I had an inappropriate relationship with Amren (he should learn to blot lines properly!) and that I miss him.  
My pet mage grows more and more impressive, today he awed everyone with his recitation of all the types of draugr and their special abilities. And guess who gave him all that information? Yours truly, who is not completely illiterate.  
The milkdrinkers grow on me, mate. There's a Dunmer girl called Brelyna who is an absolute sweetheart, once she stops stuttering. She's a member of House Telvanni, by the way, in case Athis wants to come visit. Also, the building's resident Nord, Onmund alias the Paladin (who is also available, but don't tell Marcurio I said that), came to me the other day to ask me to retrieve a family heirloom from some other altmer student, who seems to be a fence in addition to an asshole. Laugh if you will, but it felt good to be recognised as the expert on something, even if that something is beating people up.  
I miss you like crazy.  
Lots of love,  
Sira

* * *

Sundas, 17th of Second Seed, 4E 202  
My real and only Harbinger,  
Athis says he couldn't care less about the slaver Telvannis or whatever is left of them. He also asked about Brelyna's chest size, because males are scum, whether men or mer.  
The gift package arrived well. Njada is very impressed with her Block Bracers, but I think Farkas doesn't trust the greatsword and may have sold it. My Bow of Fire is canny, I had never thought the College as a source of anything useful. Can't wait to test it on a spriggan!  
Farkas has taken the assignment of hunting butterflies very seriously, as you can see. He misses you, especially now that his meaner half is too busy being boss. (What were you thinking!? He'll drive me mad one of these days).  
Erik is now after Ria, at last. I could've killed him too.  
Met a Breton poacher the other day. He can clearly do better with his life, so I'll have him win me the recruitment prize, you'll see. He rocks the axe.  
Please don't let the mages brainwash you.  
Hugs,  
Aela.

* * *

Everyone was excited about Saarthal. Even I was, after hearing about for over two weeks. Old Nordic tombs and barrows were nothing new to me (half my fortune came from them, after all), and not even to Marcurio (who was already an expert on everything, as far as he was concerned).  
There was, however, something special expected of Saarthal, if at least just because it was in the middle of such a frozen wasteland that everything was expected to be untouched. Tolfdir, possibly the only one among the professors who was determined to treat me like another student, had insisted I come – I figured at the very least, my experience fighting draugr would be useful. The mages all claimed to be able to defend themselves without a sword, but very few specialised in Destruction magic, and they were still too skinny and indoorsy for me to take their word for them.  
The initial schedule said we would divide the dig in areas, each to be tackled by a different group of students. In between dusting, classifying, counting, and researching, the project should take a week, Tolfdir said, but if their usual pace was any indication, it was likely going to last a month.  
By then, Marcurio better be on good enough terms to get me a lead on that stupid Kel.

* * *

Sundas, 24th of Second Seed, 4E 202  
Vilkas:  
The ruse is out.  
We were heading to a nearby dig in Saarthal, which is out there in the middle of the ice, and we got attacked by a frost dragon. It's not like the entire College saw me devour its soul – maybe two thirds?  
I would call on you to come pick me up from this odd place and take me home, but don't you dare! For what it's worth, I am now a student in full right. I'm keeping Marcurio around, though, he's nice to look at.  
Tomorrow I'm barging back into the library and demanding information on the Elder Scroll. I'll threaten to shout them all to death if they don't listen to me.  
Of course, if you want to come here and just say hi, feel welcome. I miss you all.  
Regards,  
Sira.


	2. Expect no more lies

The College's bathhouse was probably the only truly warm room in all of Winterhold. Located in a small cellar just beneath the Hall of Attainment – the tower that held the student's dormitories – and consisting of three different small pools, each with a magically warm spring, it was private and welcoming, even if austerely decorated. The white stone pillars around each pool had shelves carved within, and dark blue silk curtains kept each pool private without making it was the perfect place to rest my tired muscles and wait for the throes of winged fury to pass. And hide, too.

It had been the third day of the expedition to Saarthal, an ancient burial site located just one hour west of Winterhold. I had expected the day to be equally as boring as the two previous ones – mostly standing around while the rest of Marcurio's "study group" dusted off every inch in their assigned area. It felt like unnecessary punishment for breaking that one vase, the first day. What did J'zargo mean I wasn't supposed to bring a shield to the excavation? Was he completely unaware of the amount of frost trolls lurking around?

Even the stroll to the excavation site was highly monotonous: just soft hills covered knee-deep in snow, icy rock formations, and the occasional iceberg as you approached the coast line. Not that morning, however: just before we arrived, a roar made the white tremble, and the shadow of a frost dragon darkened everything for a few seconds. The beast had been flying towards the city, it had to be stopped… and yet, most of our party just stood there frozen and silent, out of awe or fear. Maybe they were hoping the dragon wouldn't notice a group of over 10 people ready to eaten? Marcurio and one of the upper-level scholars (Drevis, was it?) were the only ones to immediately raise their spells to face it.

Me? I immediately pulled out Dragonbane, waiting for it to attempt a land attack, and shouted some fire at it. Marcurio took my cue and began throwing lightning at it, someone else eventually produced a staff of flames and began attacking – just enough to force it to come down. As it did, I climbed a nearby rock to give me quick access to its neck. However, the other mage had either lost the staff or gotten himself frozen (I wasn't really watching), and J'zargo, who had at last pulled himself together, had also been thrown around by a claw. No matter, its neck was just within Dragonbane's reach, so I gave into my berserk rage and slashed away – until I was thrown off by Marcurio's sparks.

"Marcurio, what the fuck! It's a frost dragon, you're supposed to throw fire at it!" I screamed, as I lied flat on my back.  
"Right, sorry!"  
The stupid beast was trying to fly, and then it'd be starting from scratch. Not on my watch!  
" **FUS RO DAH**!" The shout was just hard enough to make it stagger.  
"Marcus, quick, fire at its neck, before it takes off!"  
 _Go, Sira, give in to the rage._ _ **SU GRAH DUN!**_ _Feed off it. Feed off the dragon._ It must have been the unnatural cold, but I found myself lying chest-down on the snow after I finished eating its soul, waiting for it to adjust to its new prison.  
A wrinkled hand came to me and helped me up. It was Professor Tolfdir, staring at me like I'd just made him win a bet.  
"But why didn't you tell us before, Dragonborn? A most impressive ability!"  
 _Oh, crap_. I took his hand and came up.  
"Uh, well… I didn't…"  
From the corner of my eye, I noticed everyone else either gaping at me or avoiding my gaze, especially Marcurio. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do.  
"Nevermind, young woman. Will you help me collect the scales and some bones? What a wonderful opportunity to study dragons up close! Pity we cannot get a live dragon, of course…"  
Brelyna coughed right behind us, as if summoning the courage to speak.  
"Professor? We have three injured students. We've patched them up, but…"  
"Of course, of course, miss Marion. Let's resume today's activities in the afternoon."

The same timid cough brought me back from my recollections.  
"Oh, sorry, Brelyna, I didn't mean to monopolise the pool." I said, quickly looking for my clothes.  
"Don't worry. I wasn't going to use it." She was blushing fiercely, trying to avert her eyes from my body and the scars that covered it, but still unwilling to look at me in the eye. "Marcurio is looking for you."  
 _Oh, shit._

* * *

Mirabelle had been waiting for me just upstairs, with a set of College Robes, ready to welcome me into the College– and she called me Dragonborn, not Sira, just in case it wasn't clear enough why she was so surreptitiously recruiting me.

I found Marcurio with his Paladin on the second floor of the dormitories, sitting by a table and seemingly staring at an apple. He didn't look very upset – but his usually amber eyes had gone the colour of rusty bronze. I breathed deeply, summoned the balls of Ysgramor, and walked over to face him.

"Hey there, guys, Marcus. Trying to cook it? It would need some cinnamon."  
"Shout at it and burn it to a crisp, then." Marcurio said, without looking up, his tone forcedly cheerful.  
"I get it, you're mad."  
"You bet I am. I hate being called Marcus. That's what everyone called my father."  
"Bummer. Your name is too long, I'll have to shorten it. It will save us time. What about Marc? It would make you sound Breton."  
The corner of his lips turned upwards, and smelled relief in his breath. Had he truly been afraid of me, or just angry?  
"I can't believe you are the Dragonborn. You know, we've been getting stories from the city guards for months now." Onmund had remained quiet so far, but he had to break the moment.  
"Why so surprised? Are you saying I don't look like the incarnation of a legendary Nord warrior?"  
"Umm… no, that's not what I meant." I grinned, showing I wasn't really offended. "I suppose it makes sense from a historical point of view – Talos, I mean Tiber Septim's descendants would've mixed with Imperial noble families, so of course a woman from Cyrodiil…"  
That is an interesting backstory for the manor with servants I'm buying.  
"Can we go back to that some other day? I need to talk to Marc here."  
"Sure, Drag… Sira. I'll see you later at the dig, eh?" He blushed profusely, picked up his books and the apple, and left. I took over his side of the bench and grabbed the nearest boiled cream tart.  
"Well done, Sira, you scared the lad away. And he took the last apple!"  
I handed him some grapes. He shrugged, as if saying _they're good enough but only just so_ , and began eating.  
"I'm listening, Sira." He said, and kept plucking grapes off the cluster, one by one.  
"I'm not sure what you want to hear!" Shit, that's was a bit too honest. "I mean, I'm not the first client to have reasons to keep my full story to myself, am I?"  
"Right. I do recall saying that."  
"For what it's worth, Marcurio, you can rest assured that nothing I've told you is a lie." That was a lie, of course, as he had asked plenty about my life back in Anvil. "I may have left some details out, but I never lied."  
"A lot of details, more like it. And what's worse, you've made it look like I've been lying too. Pretending to be a thane, pfft! I have been ridiculed in front of the very people I wanted to form long-lasting bonds with."  
"You agreed to the terms of the contract yourself. We could leave with a days' notice at any point, I did warn you of that."  
"Yes, you did, and it didn't matter so long as I could come back once the contract is done and I had enough coin to complete my studies here. That won't happen now - I'll forever be the arrogant Imperial who helped the College be infiltrated by a Companion."  
"Bullshit. You will be the talented mage who helped the Dragonborn fulfil her world-saving mission."  
"I don't even know what that mission is!"  
I sighed. He had a point there.  
"At this point of the game, you may as well just start asking."  
"And you'll answer truthfully?"  
"Whenever possible. When not possible, will you be able to accept silence instead?"  
"Better than most lies, at least." He began rubbing his temples, as if unsure what to ask first. "Very well then. I suppose a lot of the weirder things about you are explained already. The Amulet of Talos, for once, and that you're Harbinger so young.  
I inadvertently rolled my eyes. "Yes, I do feel compelled to defend the right to worship Talos now, given that the Greybeards have declared me his heir. You've seen me Shout and eat dragon souls already, there is little more to say there."  
"More like an awful lot, but have it your way. What about your strange mood swings?"  
"I hope you don't think dragon souls are sweet rolls?"  
He grimaced at the analogy "And the Elder Scroll? What do _we_ want it for?"  
"It is supposed to allow me to travel through time to learn a shout that can defeat Alduin, the World Eater, and keep the world from ending." His choice of pronoun did not escape me, compelling me to remain honest for once.  
"So when you said the Companions sent you for this job, it really was because only you could…" He tapped his chin. "I should've asked for more money, really."  
"Anything else my thane wishes to know?"  
At last, his usual amused expression was completely back.  
"Why all the secrecy? Surely your knowledge of magic is deficient, but you could've just said you were the Dragonborn from the start and Mirabelle would've let you in."  
"Yes, I know that _now_..." The excuse sounded stupidly insufficient now. How to explain to him that I rarely need a lot of reasons to lie anyway? "Also, I was kind of sick of all the open mouths and awe... almost as sick of it as I am of being stared at in fear."  
"Well, if you knew what you looked like fighting a dragon, you would not resent Brelyna and J'zargo for it."  
I stared at him in disbelief.  
"Care to elaborate?"  
"Well, your hair stood up as soon as the dragon appeared, and your eyes went red right. When you threw that fire shout, you... went sort of the color of it. You looked like an Atronach for a second or two. And you didn't seem to come fully come back from Oblivion after it was over either, at least not right away."  
My mind sped back to one confusing night by the White River, in which I had smelled like Helgen and looked feral while devouring a man who deserved better.  
 _How come nobody had told me any of this?_ Was I that scary?  
I chuckled a bit, trying to look less surprised.  
"Very well, bonus pay for you for being honest."  
"So what's the plan of action, my lady Dragonborn?" He smiled – almost as if it had been about money all along.  
"Well, first, you never call me that again. My lady as a standalone is fine, though."  
"And not happening."  
"Well, fine, Marcus. Then, I change into my new robes, so we can be back on Saarthal on time. Tomorrow, we hit the library together – Urag's bound to notice me, now."  
"Sure, that works. So I'll take it you're no longer my housecarl?" I shook my head slowly at it. "Damn, I'm going to miss being Thane and bossing the help around."  
I could've smacked him for that, if I didn't relate to that sentiment more than I'd ever admit.

* * *

Saarthal was actually an incredibly fascinating place now that I was there on my own right – and allowed to do things with the others. Just in case, I heeded J'zargo's advice and left my shield behind, only bringing one sword and dagger with me. Between him, Marcurio, Brelyna Marion, and Onmund, we were the largest study group there, by far, Tolfdir doubled our assigned area.

Onmund wasn't too excited about it. He kept saying it was wrong to disturb the resting place of someone's ancestors – and he seemed to have chosen me as his preferred audience, most likely because, as a Companion and the embodiment of a Nord legend, I was the closest thing to a fellow Nord he had there. Unfortunately, I was far from the ally he needed, seeing as grave robbing had taken me from burnt rags to fabulous riches in just six months, cultural taboos be damned.  
Curiously enough, after accidentally locking myself behind a trap while trying to pick up a bracelet, he was the only one not to send a smug look my way.  
After a few seconds of panic (at least this time nobody turned into a werewolf), I managed to wretch myself free and even to open an altogether new passage. It'd been a while since I'd last gone dungeon delving, so I immediately volunteered myself and Marcurio to explore it.

It was close to dawn by the time we got back to the Hall of Attainment. I was almost completely unscathed, but Marcurio was having a hard time with the leftover pain of healing spells.

"Ugh, this is undignified! How did I go from fake Thane to injured child in one day?" he said, as I helped him climb onto his bed.  
"The minute you started complaining, mate. Here, place this just under your elbow."  
"Thanks, girl. Now, I should have a potion for the pain somewhere."  
"No potion! It will make it worse. Trust me on this one, magic only does so much. That cramp is your body protesting to excessive magical fixing."  
"What a barbaric concept. What am I supposed to do then?"  
"A good massage will do it. Here, allow me."  
"Don't even think of it. You'll break me as vengeance for something."  
"Oh, please. You're talking to a widely experienced tomb desecrator here. I've massaged all the Companions."  
"Oh, I don't need the gruesome details of your sex life, Sira. You'll horrify our Paladin, too."  
I turned around towards his bunk. It was on the other side of the hall, and yet his snoring was tangible.  
"Are you kidding me? He's making sure nobody else hears us."  
From over the blankets, I began tapping his left knee and leg.  
"Mmmm yeah, right there. He asked about you like five times today, you know?" He said, with properly veiled resentment.  
"Of course he did. I'm Dragonborn. I'm fascinating, but not like that. Not to him. I'm so not his type. I think the lad's scared of me, actually."  
"Of course he is. You're Dragonborn, that makes you terrifying enough, doesn't it? Even if you hadn't roughed up Enthir like that."  
"Oh, Onmund did not complain about that, did he? I only did it to try to get his stupid amulet back! Enthir is a cunt anyway." I pressed on his calf and he winced. "Oh, sorry!"  
"It's fine. That's the spot that's killing me, though." I began rubbing that spot a bit more gently. "Anyway, Onmund seemed really nervous about the whole business, in addition to being scared of women in general."  
"Oh, wouldn't that work out nicely for you, Marcurio? Can you wiggle your toes a bit?"  
"Ah, yes, much, much better. And if you could only be right about the Paladin, it'd be stupendous. What about you, though?" He pointed at his chair, which I immediately dragged next to his bed. "Where's your strong nord warrior? Reading all those letters you send to Whiterun?"  
As far as olive branches go, this was probably as good as it was going to get. I grabbed a bottle of wine from his dresser, curled up on the chair, and set out to repair what little sense of complicity was left between us.  
However, a hint of daylight was already visible, and I could hear bodies stirring around the tower. Walls always have ears for the Dragonborn.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about."  
"Siraaa…"  
"Fine. I really don't have much to tell, though. There was a strong nord soldier in Solitude, who is probably no longer waiting for a letter, and a powerful nord in Falkreath, who I bet hasn't noticed that there will be no more letters."  
"Interesting, but I don't care about those. What about the man who came to see you off all the way to Riften? Vilkas, was it?"  
So not smooth, mage.  
I began softly scratching his head, hoping that would make him sleep more quickly.  
"Nope, sorry, nothing. Don't blame that failure on me."  
"Bullshit, I know a hungry man when I see one."  
 _Oh, the wolf was hungry alright_. Pity I couldn't tell Marcurio how close to the truth he had landed – and how wrong he still was.  
He pressed: "Who else? Shouldn't the Dragonborn have a flock of men wanting to taste a piece of legend?"  
I chuckled. "The dragon does not mate with sheep."  
He made a mocking wounded gesture. "Oh, such pride. Have it your way then - but keep in mind I won't be held responsible for keeping the ones you haven't claimed."


	3. Rowing in a mud pool

I woke up on the same chair, still bent in the same unnatural position, with a bottle of ale by my side. Not the most comfortable situation, but since the beast blood had made restful sleep into a distant memory, I wasn't about to make a big deal out of it.  
Unfortunately, Brelyna seemed willing to make a fuss about it, judging from her shocked expression when she saw me leave Marcurio's booth wearing yesterday's wrinkled robes. Poor Marcurio, sending the wrong signals all over – and what's more, poor Brelyna, going after a hopeless cause.  
"Brelyna, hi! What are you doing here? Are you all back for lunch already?"  
"And about to go back to the excavation, actually. We heard you discovered some strange artifact there last night?"  
"More like, very early this morning. I'm supposed to go talk to the Arch-Mage about it later." My stomach rumbled _loudly_. "I suppose I should get some food first, eh?"  
"Yes, I'm sure you are famished after all that… exercise."  
"Someone said famished? Food? Where?" Thank Talos, he was up and right behind us.  
"I think there's sausages and bread left upstairs." Brelyna said, looking down and blushing.  
"Great, let's go already. Sira, your arm."  
"Eh?"  
"Your arm! I'm not going to make it up the stairs on my own, mate! Brelyna, please send our love to Onmund and J'zargo, will you?"  
As we climbed up the stairs, he immediately let go of my arm.  
"Awww, you think she'll send your love to the Paladin? I bet she'll keep it." I teased.  
He squinted.  
"She may as well. My love doesn't come cheap, as you know."  
"Man whore."  
"You're just scared she's going to conjure up a bow and turn you into a hedgehog."

* * *

My change in status at the College was evident as soon as we entered the Arcaneum: as Marcurio's housecarl, I had barely been worthy of a nod of acknowledgment on Urag's behalf, now that I had my own set of robes, we both got a full "good afternoon."  
Nevertheless, I felt it was prudent to let Marcurio do the talking. Urag didn't snigger after we asked for an Elder Scroll, but he made it clear enough that he didn't have one, and that we didn't look worthy of such big-boy toys anyway.  
"You kids think that even if I did have one here, that I'd let you see it? It would be under the highest security! An Elder Scroll is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. It's not something you just hand over to the newest novices."  
"But my friend here is the Dragonborn. Clearly she has great power, and needs your help with the knowledge."  
Urag turned to me. "Wait. Are you the one they're talking about? Did you kill that dragon yesterday?"  
"I did, sir." Oh, please don't have him ask me to demonstrate a shout, too. I'm sick of that.  
"Listen, I'll bring you everything I have on them. It's not much, so don't get your hopes up."  
He brought us back two books. I gave him my sweetest, flirtiest smile as a thank you before returning to the Hall of Attainment.  
"Well, that wasn't too hard. If only you'd been honest with everyone from the start…" Marcurio said.  
"Easy there. We still have to see what clues we can get from these books. I'll take _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ and you can take the _Ruminations_ one, is that alright?"  
"Sure, we'll see about that tonight. We're still in time for the afternoon lecture, though, Turrianus is going to demonstrate more defensive enchantments, I'm sure he'll be giving gear away."  
Unsurprisingly, the robes may get you the full student treatment, but they don't contribute one iota to your understanding. I sensed I was expected to participate at the lecture, or at least, that I would be allowed to ask questions, but I dared not to. My knowledge of enchanting, it was clear, will forever be limited to buying a soul trapping sword and giving any filled soul gems to Marcurio.  
As much respect as I have for his intellectual curiosity, I felt like I was wasting my time there. Sure, a properly enchanted circlet could make me highly resistant to dragon fire, but I wasn't about to make one myself. Maybe I could eventually pick up enough fancy words to impress someone at a tavern?  
If lectures made me feel a bit uncultivated, Urag's books made me feel like I was dropped on the head as a child. _Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls_ was completely incomprehensible, and little more than strings of beautiful metaphors with no real information. As small a consolation as it was, Marcurio seemed equally unable to make sense of it.  
The second book was fairly straightforward, if still useless: apparently, unless you were too stupid to understand _anything_ about Kels, trying to read one makes you blind and mad. Did it even matter? First, we would have to find one.  
"This is a waste of time! There's nothing here that will help us actually find it. I'll never be able to learn that Shout."  
"Well, Urag did warn us. Don't despair, Sira. We are moving forward, even if slowly. This Septimus Signus…"  
"Is a madman."  
"Maybe, but look at the dates. The book is fairly recent. He must've had an assistant or steward, likely still sane. We could access his notes…"  
"Sure, we can do that. I'll just go tell Alduin to hold on the world eating for another month while we locate this steward."  
"Well, did you think it would take a week, Sira? Scholars spend years, decades even trying to locate an Elder Scroll. May as well apply yourself to your studies here, in the meantime. Just so you don't go blind or anything like that."  
"Who cares if I go blind anyway? My eyesight's crappy to begin with." I sat on his bed and began rubbing my eyes again. It was all I could do to keep myself from shouting fire and burning the entire tower down. "I never expected to sail through this task, but it's like were rowing on a dense swamp… or a thick, boiling stew, getting thicker by the minute."  
"I'll take the bad food analogy means you're hungry?"  
"I'm always hungry. Maybe I am the world eater. That would make it so much easier." If he could make pitiful attempts at being funny, so could I.  
"Oh, look! You're beginning to rave. I'll take this as progress."

* * *

Brelyna claimed to want to help me – but why do I have such a hard time believing her? Better yet, why did I agree to help her out in the first place?  
Oh, right, she promised she would _teach me_ the basis of conjuration. If she had approached to help me out of the kindness of her shy heart, I'd have flipped her off. I did not spend my entire adolescence among thieves and pimps to still be deluded by the idea that people are usually kind to strangers over nothing.  
And yet, here I was, hiding in my room, looking green.  
"Oh, no. This is not how it was supposed to go! Wait, one second, I'm sure it will clear itself out." She said, wringing her hands and pacing around the room.  
Oh, Sira, what were you thinking, lending yourself as a test subject?  
"I hope you're not thinking of going anywhere until I'm fixed!"  
"Right, no, of course! I mean, it will fade in a few minutes, I'm sure, but I'll wait with you."  
"That's so thoughtful of you. Care for some ale?" I offered her a bottle from my basket. At the very least, I could pretend she's Aela and we could chat.  
"Eh, sure, thanks. Oh, wow, you're reading a Signus?" She pointed at the Ruminations, which were lying on top of my side table.  
"Uh? Oh, yes, that book. It's quite the puzzle."  
"Indeed. It's one of the last things he ever wrote, you know, before he lost contact with the College."  
"And, it seems, with reality."  
"Oh, you don't mean that, do you?" She giggled. "He is quite the genius, no matter what Mirabelle says."  
Wait, _is_?  
"About a year ago, actually, I even thought of going to his outpost to interview him, but I could not find anyone willing to come with me." She continued.  
Was she messing with me? Is Signus still alive? At an outpost?  
"Oh, that sounds like such a pity. Why, though? I mean, where is this outpost?"  
"Oh, just north of here on the ice fields. It's not that dangerous at all, really, save from the occasional snow sabre cat and troll... although I suppose now that frost dragons are around…"  
Oh, Talos be blessed! Meridia be blessed!  
"Good thing I'm the Dragonborn, then. And Marcurio adores frost trolls, he's researching something about their claws. What are you doing Sundas?"  
"I was thinking of catching up on some reading… oh, you mean to go look for Signus?"  
"Yes, of course that's what I mean. Provided I no longer look green by then?"  
Her grin seemed to cover half her face. I bet if I had offered to stay behind, I could have gotten a hug as well.

* * *

Blackreach sound like the sort of mythical place that didn't really exist, while Alftand was an obscure and ridiculously dangerous Dwemer ruin, but it was also a concrete, physical place – the first real possible location for the Elder Scroll. What a nightmare it had been to get just that word!  
Sundas morning was excessively cold, even for Winterhold's standards. Not the best day to leave bed at the break of dawn to go stroll around the ice fields north of the College – but Brelyna was too excited to allow me an extra half hour of blanket warmth. I couldn't resent her too much over it, though: not only was her giddiness at being included in our "private adventure" palpable, but she chose to express it by being as useful as possible.  
At some point during the previous days, she had gathered supplies, snacks, and even rented a boat from a horker hunter, saving us hours of swimming in frozen waters and slipping on thin ice. It was also clear that she'd been meaning to interview Septimus Signus for a while, as she had very detailed directions for his outpost.  
Pity the man is truly mad. She spent hours trying to write down his ramblings, but I sincerely doubt her notes will be worth anything. In fact, for the first two hours we spent at his outpost, I suspected he wasn't even aware that he had visitors. He talked to us, surely, but it was just ramblings about the god that inhabited the big Dwemer sphere he had abandoned everything for.  
I know I'm an ignorant mercenary, but I struggled to summon the reverence that Brelyna had for him. Fortunately, Marcurio is familiar enough with the Dwemer to ask smart-sounding questions (I suspect he's as good a smoke-seller as I am). Once his interest was piqued, it took a lot of bootlicking and flattering to get him to agree to Brelyna's interview, and at last, to a deal that was of use to me: the location of the Kel, in exchange for a transcription of it in some sort of mechanical contraption called Lexicon.  
I'm sure we'll come back with the Lexicon someday, once I've mastered the Dragonrend Shout and maybe married and started a silk carpet business. The old man is likely to forget we even exist, obsessed with his big Dwemer ball.  
"No longer rowing in a swamp, eh?" Marcurio said, as I dug into the greasiest horker steak ever. The Frozen Hearth Inn was as packed as ever, and it had never felt so warm to us.  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I prancing about too obviously on the way back?" I could've sung, too.  
"Girl, you were practically dancing in the snow." He looked quite chuffed himself, if at least for the large amount of chicken in front of him.  
"Only because you clearly can't dance. You can't blame me for being satisfied with the expedition."  
"I know, it's been a hit for all us, hasn't it?" Brelyna said, shuffling her notes. "This right here, I will finally be able to send my finished paper to the Arcane University in Cyrodiil."  
"Cheers to that, I say." I added.  
"So when are you going to get Professor Signus' Lexicon?"  
I looked at Marcurio. Somehow "right away" seemed too blunt an answer.  
"Soon." He said. "I wouldn't want to keep him waiting… but Dwemer ruins are complex business, we'll have to prepare."  
I'd never been to Dwemer sites, so I just nodded in agreement and stuffed extra food on my mouth.  
"Is that Faralda who just walked in with Nelacar?" Brelyna said, saving me the trouble of having to elaborate.  
"It looks like Faralda allright. Who's Nelacar?"  
"A former student at the College. He lives here at the Inn, though." I said. Marcurio stared at me oddly, so I explained. "I had a lot of time to gossip with the innkeeper during your first days of class."  
"Of course. You think we should say hi?"  
"Sure, the more the merrier. Just try and not challenge Nelacar to a drinking contest. We're pre-emptively recognising you as the bigger man."  
Brelyna found that funny, at least, and giggled while waving at them.  
"Ah, there's the three of you, adventuring on a day off?" Faralda said, with a warm voice that had no place on her concerned face. They pulled two chairs and joined us.  
"Ah, so you are the newest novices." Nelacar's greeting was, in the typical Altmer style, as arrogant as possible.  
"Yes, we've had a most fascinating trip to see Septimus Signus, and he even requested us to go to Alftand to… fetch him something." I said.  
Instead of joining in with some casual gossip, Faralda looked around, as if looking for eavesdroppers, and began whispering.  
"Sira, Marcurio, I've been looking for you two all day! I'm glad I found you before you returned to the College."  
"Oh? Are we in trouble?" Marcurio asked.  
"No, not yet, and not you. Sira, Ancano has been asking about you an awful lot. He asked Tolfdir twice already to send you to him, he says he has important questions to ask you. Be very careful!"  
My hands felt suddenly cold.  
"Ancano? The tall one in the Thalmor robes?"  
"But I thought he was supposed to be an advisor to the Arch-Mage?"  
"Brelyna, don't be naïve! Do you ever see him with the Arch Mage? No, he's a Thalmor spy, that one. And he's very intrigued with whatever came out of Saarthal – and with Sira. He'll definitely approach you next time he sees you, and I'm warning you, Sira, be very careful with what you tell him!"  
"Of course I will! Thanks for the warning."  
"I didn't warn you of anything. Now, if you've got somewhere else to be, like Alftand, I suggest you go there right away… for a while, until things have quieted down. Brelyna, Marcurio, I'll see _you_ at the College."  
With that, Faralda and Nelacar stood up and left.  
"You think she meant it? You can't even come back for tonight?" Brelyna's voice trembled wildly.  
"I… have had issues with the Thalmor before." Oh, the smell of blood and pain in the Embassy's torture chambers. I made my best effort to keep my voice from trembling. "Shit, Marcurio, you ought to help me out here. My things are still inside... it's best if they stay, though, so it doesn't look like I'm running away. It would buy us a couple of days, at least."  
"We will need supplies for Alftand."  
"Of course. Good thing I got both my swords and my shield with me, those are the bulkiest. The greatsword and the axe of Whiterun, I don't think we'll need. My scaled armour set, plus potions and food. I'll buy a new bow tomorrow from Birna."  
"Sure." He squeezed my hand. "It will get done. You stay here, send word to Vilkas. Good thing I'm much more built for stealth that you."  
"Oh, that nonsense again! I suppose you won't need any invisibility potions then?"  
"What, like… well, if you've got those, I wouldn't hurt."  
I opened my rucksack, trying to find the potion bag. "Here. Go. And Brelyna?"  
"I won't tell anyone, I swear!"


	4. A wondrous, gigantic coffin

Torches cannot be used to tell time, but I've spent enough time in crypts to be able to estimate time according to my own sensations of hunger and fatigue. Or so I thought. After the fourth time we passed the same hall, tripping against the same broken Dwarven sphere, I realised that past a certain point, fatigue makes it hard to distinguish between three and thirteen days.

It seemed more than prudent to begin rationing our food, though – and maybe to slice up the next skeever we came across. Fortunately, if my time at the college was worth anything, it was to absorb a lot of Collette's knowledge of Restoration, so our stash of potions remained untouched.

Dungeon delving is my thing, I reminded myself – but the ancient Nords had nothing on the Dwemer, who must have been amused at the thought of their cities becoming massive graves. Bad signs started early on, still on the first morning, after finding a trail of Khajiit and Bosmer corpses not far from the entrance. They looked relatively fresh, too, which could be attributed to the cold…

Oh, Sira, why didn't you just turn back right then?

Marcurio had noticed my distress at the corpses, which we stupidly mistook for bandits, and with his typical cheek, said "three less bandits to take care of ourselves" and to "take comfort that I am here with you". Rookie attitude if there ever was one. The bloody idiot felt a lot less relieved after we found their gear, journal included, showing us the many horrible ways to die that we still had to deal with.

By the end of the first day, it was clear that even if he was a fearless and efficient fighter, he didn't have as much experience underground as he wanted me to believe. Sure, his quick reflexes had saved my ass several times, especially as I got better at dodging his chain lightning spell myself, but he had never heard of the concept of responsible looting.

As annoying and arrogant as he can be (I bet Vilkas is going to love him), his wit keeps spirits high. In fact, just having another human voice behind me, and feeling a chest breathing next to me is the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

We may have lost track of days, but I can sense he's making the same effort as me to keep our fear well hidden. It's been three (or four) times that we've crossed the same room, and exhaustion is making it very hard to remember if the door in front of us leads deeper or back outside. Sleep seemed like a dangerous gamble at first, but it's now a necessity – curled up against each other, we can't exactly patrol in turns, but it's so cold that I fear that if I let go of him, he won't wake up. And then nobody will watch my back.

I have dragged us to our deaths, but I can't let him notice that.

* * *

"I'd like to go to the top of Dragonsreach and admire the view from there. I hear you can see all of Skyrim from it." Marcurio said, as he carefully poked at another booby trap.

"Only from three sides – if you look south the Throat of the World kind of ruins it. Still, it's a canny view."

"Can you imagine a romantic picnic with that view, on a sunset?"

"Yes. I can imagine a lowly scumbag thinking it's romantic to make me puke." In fact, just the idea of going back up there was giving me vertigo. "But it doesn't matter what I think, just what _he_ thinks of the idea."

"Right, you're not the centre of the world. So afraid of heights, aren't we?"

"Completely. My eyes get blurry and my feet can't keep themselves straight. I'd much rather have my romantic picnic on a sunny afternoon, by a lake, somewhere green… like lake Ilinalta." Or the Riverwood bridge, I thought.

"Of course, a simple woman of unelevated tastes. Seems right up the alley of the strapping muscular men you fancy."

"Yes, I'd give half my wealth for a real man to come and sweep me away." I rolled me eyes at the thought and we both giggled. A good "night's" sleep had cleared our heads enough to find, at last, a passage in which we had not been before, which had in turn lifted our spirits enough to animatedly discuss all the relaxing and delicious things we'd eat, do, or shag as soon as left Alftand with the Scroll.

A proper sign of progress was opening a chamber with three dwarven spheres we had not damaged yet. Almost automatically, we both raised our hands in unison to throw sparks at them. Bad idea. The sparks hit one of the spheres, only to bounce into a wall – and then to some sort of oil-based trap that made the very air catch fire and explode.

The gigantic flame spread rapidly, from the other end of the room, towards us. A steadfast ward by Marcurio and an uncharged, but quick Ice Form Shout on my part kept us from roasting, but only barely. I deal with dragons on a regular basis, but I had never seen anything like that. This was no ordinary flame or fireball, it was a blast that shook the walls and scorched the stone around us.

All these millennia later, the Dwemer were having a laugh at us.

After the fright passed, we continued across doors, galleries, stairs. We got lost again, I'm sure, but if we kept going it wouldn't be evident. I kept hearing a strange sound come from across walls, a faint clinking of metal that went tock-tick tock-tick tock-tick, keeping its own rhythm perfectly. It wouldn't stop. Marcurio didn't seem to hear it, but I was too afraid to ask. Either it's the beast blood, or I'm just going mad.

Following the sound didn't seem like the worst way to die, so I made us follow it. We knew we had reached the innermost parts of the site when the air became warmer again. Well, Marcurio knew, because he'd read about it on some book.

"They used steam to power their machines, did you know that? They would use the strength of the compressed vapour to move things and to keep themselves warm. Imagine that, Sira! I'm blushing just to think of it." Truth be told, he was flustered like a maiden, the adorable bookworm.

"I thought that was the steam."

"Oh, cheer up. We're getting close. The entrance to Blackreach cannot be too far away."

"I bet it's warm in there… what the hell was that!"

A white blur crossed a gallery, some 20 feet below us.

"It looked like an oversized albino skeever. Think we can eat it?" I asked.

"Shit, no! Sira, get down!" Hissed Marcurio. "Falmer, the last thing we needed. Keep your bow at the ready."

The Falmer were sneaky, quick things – fortunately blind. Those who didn't fall to my (rather inaccurate) arrows or Marcurio's lightning were quickly sliced by my swords. We ran down the gallery as soon as we could, looking for a safe position to check for any more enemies.

A stack of large Dwemer amphorae and containers seemed like the ideal position, until we found the corpses of the last poor sods who thought the same. Three bosmer and an orc, possible members of the same expedition we'd found three days or a week ago, lied rotting behind it.

The smell nearly made me stagger right before reaching safe cover. That turned out to be enough time for a sneaky Falmer devil to throw a poisoned lance at me - which stuck itself just midway between my belly button and my pelvis.

"Oh, fuck. Now I'm done for." I said, just staring at it, feeling the poison spreading like ice across my womb. I didn't even realise when Marcurio killed the damn devil, or how he jumped back to me to make me swallow potions and heal me as soon as possible. I just remember the pain of my entrails freezing inside me, and crying. His crying.

No, now's not the time to break. You were doing so well, Marcus.

"We're going to die in here! Damn you, Sira, we're going to die!"

"I know, I know. You should've asked for more money."

"You… stupid legendary heroes. Why did I sign up for this?" He wiped his eyes. "I have sisters, you know. One of them was still unmarried, and I have to go home and teach her a thing or two, because back at home no one, and I mean _no one_ , is going to make sure she doesn't end up as frivolous as the other two. She could improve herself, under the right guidance… but mother will prefer to keep her pleasant and stupid. They kicked me out before I had a chance to tell her, you know? Father actually used her as an excuse, saying he didn't want my perversion to influence her wrongly, so now she'll be another vapid, hypocritical and manipulative housewife, unable to think for herself…"

He was no longer crying, but his voice sounded shrill and panicked. He kept rocking me back and forth, while drizzling antidotes over my wound.

"Marcurio, please." I looked up at him. The dragon doesn't give up – its companion doesn't give up, either.

"No, you please yourself, Sira. We're going to die here, and there's so many things I haven't said to so many people, so you're going to listen. I never told Brynjolf that I knew he was sleeping with one of his pickpockets, either. I tried, but all I managed was to throw some ale at his face, and then the words caught in my throat. Next thing I know there's a foot in my stomach, and I never got to tell him he's a horrible, cheating asshole. And I also never got to tell Onmund that I fancy boys too, he told me once after drinking some of Enthir's sap, I was too busy debating with J'zargo, thinking I'd get another chance. And now I won't… Onmund is an honest guy, he could've..."

My arms were feeling less heavy at last, and the tears dripping on top of me kept me from falling asleep. Instead, I lifted both my arms towards his neck and gave one, deep squeeze.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. We're not dying! Nobody's dying, you hear me? Unless we give up, in which case your sister dies, Onmund dies, Brynjolf dies, everyone dies. But nobody dies now, you crazed wanker. Right now, we live. We stay alive for each other, no matter what, you fucking hear me?"

He was beginning to go purple when he finally nodded and I let go of his neck. He gasped and began to cough violently.

"You madwoman! Fine, we'll live." He said, noticing I was out of danger. "You'll have to rest a bit first. I'll shut up so you can sleep and we can keep living."

"Thank you."

* * *

Men and mer alike survive: it is in their nature to delude themselves into believing the way out is always there, and to fight all the more fiercely when their stomachs have been empty for too long.

After Alivar did away with Sira's mother and Sira did away with Alivar, she found herself living (or pretending to live) on an apprentice's wages, which were suddenly barely enough to pay for her little hovel's rent and three daily meals – and definitely not enough to pay the numerous, if relatively small debts Emilia had left behind.

Pretending to be anything less than dirt poor, apparently, required some investment. Alternatively pickpocketing a couple of gems here and there, or swindling travellers out of their gear, made her enough money at first, but it quickly became too dangerous to be anything beyond sporadic: Anvil's Thieves Guild, wich she had no intention of joining anyway, did not take kindly to competition or her signature paralysis poison – the real money-maker in her skill set.

She had other, riskier, skills (and what's wrong with risking everything when there's nothing to lose?): a good game of cards at the inn, cheating or not, could make the difference between a new fine gown this month or a grumbling stomach for what's left of the fortnight.

When all her gambles failed, there was always Pullo's lap. The former adventurer was now over 70 and had lost most of his teeth, but he'd been once fabulously wealthy – and despite his lavish habits, he'd managed to keep enough to lack nothing. Pullo was always eager to believe himself still attractive and important, and to share food and drinks with any young flower willing to let herself be rubbed "for good luck".

* * *

Blackreach announced itself with two more, even fresher, corpses. At least these did not stink of decay or of any of the poisonous threats that awaited us once inside. They did, however, seem to have killed each other – but why? The only company all the way down here? This place clearly makes people mad.

What a beautiful place, Blackreach was. The ancient cavern was probably twice as high as Dragonsreach and bigger than all of Whiterun, and it was full of strange, glowing mushrooms and glimmering ore veins. Ancient Dwemer buildings and towers littered the landscape, mostly alongside a pitch black river. I felt we had stepped out onto a fantasy realm.

In reality, Blackreach was little more than Nirn's largest coffin.

Falmer abounded, alongside Chauruses, trolls, and giants. Out of them, only the giants did not seem intent on killing us. What a beautiful place to die. The chunks of ice in my womb were now indistinguishable from the holes of hunger in my stomach, and my limbs were moving based mostly on the memory of what walking was about. At least I had rested enough to keep myself on my own two feet – unlike Marcurio.

Carrying him was beyond my abilities. Better to just stare at the glowing mushrooms and fade in such a legendary site. Wherever we end up, we'll find everybody we know in a while, once Alduin has eaten the world whole.

"You know, now that we're so close to the end, I've realised I've only ever been truly alive when fighting dragons." I said, kind of to nobody, after stopping and resting against a big rock.

"Don't you start with that now. We're not close to the end."

"We are. What would I give for one last dragon… there's just a way they dare you, like they recognise that I'm carrying the souls of their peers, and they want to best _them_ by besting _me_. Just going mad and proving them wrong, feeding off their mistake, it's the most beautiful thing I've felt."

"And you'll feel it again."

"No. I won't. I'd need a dragon, nothing replaces it. You know the first time I killed a dragon, I went so wild with that adrenaline that I ran to a nearby town and jumped at man's crotch? A nice, outstanding man, too, one that I could've kept around if I hadn't used him like that. But doesn't matter now, does it? He'll die too, now that we've failed. All the people who've made me feel inferior, they'll die too, at least."

"NOBODY DIES! You promised, Sira. We stay alive here, right? Now get up!" He threw my arm around his shoulder and tried to pull.

"You can't carry me. I'm bigger than you, Marcurio."

"I don't care. We're walking. The Tower of M'zark is just there."

"Is this about your sister? Or about not wasting your life over 500 septims?"

"It's about being the strong one here, if you're set on just… letting yourself die like a milkdrinker."

The dragons shook at that word.

"Monks, mages, and such milkdrinkers." I straightened myself up. "What was your sister's name? Not all three, just the one we like?"

"Camilla."

"I'll write to her, after we reach Whiterun and Aela kills you. You'll see. You'll drive her mad."

I began walking.

"Wait, Sira! My leg's cramped. Help me."

The tower of M'zark was really not that far away, and we were still holding each other up when we reached it. Once inside, with the Elder Scroll within reach of our fingers, we managed to rest before facing a new kind of mental torture: the machine that hid it. Marcurio was sure that Septimus had told us how to do it, but we hadn't paid enough attention to his metaphysical ramblings.

"He said the Dwemer found a way by letting the light pass" He insisted.

"He said tons of stupid stuff. Look where it got us." I stared at the big machine, the Lexicon's receptacles, and the adjacent buttons. "Just poke at the buttons until it's done, mate."

"A trader's daughter should know how many combinations can stem from just four buttons."

"We had stewards for that. So, letting the light pass? Through the glass, maybe?"

"Of course. You're a genius! Give me a second here."

Maybe an hour later, he finally figured out how to make the light pass through all the rotating glass in the machine. We got the Scroll. We were going home to keep living – and there was a lift just behind us!

The scenery once back up was completely confusing. Definitely Skyrim – but where? There was no snow, just hills with no landmarks.

* * *

We crawled back to Whiterun one morning – I will never know which day of the week. We were injured, our backpacks filled to the point of bursting with random objects (we could not throw them away, lest the whole ordeal became pointless or we had to admit we had reached our limit), and still famished. It was a rather warm day, though, although my hands and stomach felt like ice. We carried each other, each step now a torture, from the Plains district up to the Winds one, and then to Jorrvaskr.

We were home and alive. I saw Aela drinking with Athis inside the mead hall, I heard Erik telling Ria something, and I smelled Torvar's roasted venison. And then I saw nothing.

I woke up at the Temple of Kynareth, right before sunset. Marcurio was just beside me, looking pale still, wearing temple robes too.

"How long has it been?" I asked.

"Maybe two hours since I woke up. Apparently you were right, overexertion alone cannot kill you. Of course, in your case, there was the small matter of the festering belly wound from a poisoned arrow."

"Ugh. I hope I did not faint in front of everyone."

"You hope wrong. The burlier twin caught you, fortunately."

"Ah, sweet old Farkas. How embarassing"

"Indeed. I'd mock you, but I found myself collapsed and on a chair less than a minute after that. The Dunmer was just getting us some flowers to eat, something about bleeding gums, when my legs gave out. Vilkas was beside himself."

"Saying I'm an irresponsible, entitled child, I bet." I propped myself up.

"More like saying I am, for letting anything happen to you. I'm so glad you're awake, mate, I need good news at hand for when they send me out. They're a violent lot, your Companions, I would hate to harm them."

"Yes, I'd hate to see the results of you trying to harm them. I'm starving. How great is that?" I beamed.


	5. Reknitting bridges

It was very out of character for Danica to grant me every piece of food I would ask for, so I shouldn't have been so surprised when she insisted I stayed the night. Marcurio's overexertion was not getting the same special treatment, though, which felt unfair – and he had no qualms about pointing it out.

I suppose Falmer poison is not something to play with, but really, if something was about to _spiritually distress_ me, it was her assumption that a simple arrow wound would damage me permanently. Sure, my womb may never act the same... but it's not like using it had ever been part of my life plan. And her sad staring. Divines, her sad staring. She must have seen a lot of horrible things lately, and my inaction is largely responsible for that.

Such depressing thoughts didn't last long as I walked back to Jorrvaskr, just after breakfast. I found Marcurio leaning against the main door, waiting for me.

"Shouldn't you be resting inside?" I asked.

"I felt a bit like I was intruding. Also, I wanted to give you this."

He handed me a large cylinder, covered in a cloth sack.

"Is this the Scroll?"

His eyes gleamed with mischief.

"I snuck it out of your rucksack earlier. Breathe deeply before you open that door, you're going to need a trophy to exhibit."

He placed a hand on the doorknob. "Ready?"

Everything became a flurry of hugs and laughter. Everyone was there, which was oddly touching. I waved the Elder Scroll around a bit while Aela hugged me and Torvar banged his tankard on the table. I shook Jerome the Breton Newbie's hand and was cheered on by Ria and Erik.

My vanity was definitely enjoying the hero welcome, but my stamina wasn't up for it. Just as I was about to ask for a chair, I noticed a pair of eyes who should've been disapproving of my self-importance. However, Vilkas wasn't frowning, and he didn't even look stern. He was openly smiling.

"We have much to discuss" he said. Smiling made his voice different, slightly higher than usual. That must be why he never did it.

"We do. I trust the Harbinger's studio is decent?" I said with a light nod, and he followed me downstairs.

The Harbinger's quarters – my quarters, really, although I had fully expected Vilkas to have taken over them – looked every bit as I'd left them, both the studio and the bedroom. In turn, I had left them half-cleared, letting the twins take Kodlak's personal possessions but never daring to re-arrange any furniture or even add any personal items of my own.

Display cases still had Kodlak's war axes, all but one of the cupboards had male clothes on them, and shelves were empty, while my books were stashed on a corner. The room seemed caught in the limbo between a shrine to our lost Harbinger and a storage room for the absent one – and Vilkas could tell, I knew.

"I haven't been using the room, as you can see." He said with a shrug. "It still feels odd to be here without him."

I closed the door behind me. "I'm sorry. That… can't be healthy."

"It's not your fault. I could've moved stuff around too. Well, now you're here, so… alphabetical?" He said, pointing at the pile of books.

"By subject, then by size. Looks prettier that way."

"And impractical, but of course, you'll have it pretty and shiny." He said.

"Oh, shut up and help me sort them."

"I'll shut up, but only so you can give me a detailed account of everything that's happened."

"You want a report now? Do I need to fetch your mead too?"

"You could've had Aela be your stand-in. You made your bed, Sira." He said, smiling still.

By the time I finished retelling everything that happened between the excavation at Saarthal and the emotional moments at the Tower of M'zark, all the books were ready to be placed in the shelves, and lunchtime was in a tray that Tilma had brought us.

A full stomach was just what we needed to discuss the steps ahead, anyway.

"Well, the Kel is essentially worthless here, I must open it at the Time Wound if I want to see the Dragonrend shout in action. It seems like it can make me blind if I try to read it, too, so I'm not about to try just out of curiosity."

"So back to High Hrothgar as soon as possible, then?"

"Essentially, yes. I still need to talk to Marcurio about it. I did hire him for at least six months, but we both need a few days's respite." I also needed to find a proper time to explain to him what was expecting us at the Throat of the World, and cross my fingers he'd deal with it better than Aela did.

"So everything worked out with the mage? You didn't murder each other, at least."

"And that's such a feat where I'm concerned, right? At some point, while in Alftand, we might have." I shuddered as I remembered the last two corpses we'd found before Blackreach. "I still don't know how long we were in there. We could've easily lost ourselves. I almost wished you'd been there with us, keeping order. Imagine the desperation, eh?" I forced a smile.

"We were incredibly worried, Sira. Your last message had been very confusing, especially that bit about the Thalmor agent. And then we had no news of you for over a fortnight! Farkas urged me to send a courier to Winterhold, to some of the names you mentioned in your letters, but I was afraid to set the Thalmor on your trail. I feared the worst, at some point."

This explained why he'd been so happy to see me, but I still had no idea how to reply. He seemed to have slipped out of bantering mood, and looked closer to his usual sullen self. I simply stayed quiet, carefully arranging my books.

"Should we go over numbers, then?" He finally said, breaking the tension.

* * *

The real homecoming came with supper. Squeezed between Vilkas and Marcurio, I noticed how crowded the hall was: it was very rare to find the entire guild together for a common dinner. A strong statement about how dead I'd seemed while at Alftand, at least.

Fortunately, there was still an available bed for Marcurio, and the Circle had made sure to stifle any potential complaints about him staying there. Milkdrinking mage or not, we'd carried each other from Blackreach to Whiterun with sheer will as our only fuel, and he deserved better than a bed at the Bannered Mare.

Mourning had passed and coin was flowing, so Jorrvaskr had recovered most of its initial rough comradeship. Even Aela, who had been very close to abandoning us for the Blades, seemed to have taken to hunting with Jerome, which had "kept her sane" – her own words. She smirked almost continuously as she carved ever bigger cuts of meat for me and Marcurio, who "looked like he could use some bulking" – again, her own words.

Farkas seemed content as well: he'd appropriated most training responsibilities, which was pleasant, "I get to give orders without having to think much, it's fun." That left Athis with little competition to take the most delicate and lucrative jobs, and with enough authority to choose which whelp to bring along.

"I told you, it's all about the riches and glory for me, and I'm getting plenty." It was the closest to a smile we were likely to get from him, so I drank to that.

Njada was personally mentoring Erik and his notoriously clumsy shield arm, with enough success to keep him from getting slayed. Ria was full of knowing, flirty smiles as she retold the story of how she'd killed a bear in Gerdur's mill in Riverwood just 3 weeks ago.

"And here's the best part – just as I was leaving, bear pelt in tow, I ran into a friend of yours, Alvor." Aela and the twins immediately turned to follow the rest of that story. "He sends his regards, of course, but he also paid me an extra good price for the pelt…"

"I don't recall seeing a share of that extra coin." Aela pointed out.

"And he wouldn't let me leave without a gift for you! I've been carrying it all evening, here." She handed me a plain package, which, to everyone's amusement, I snatched off her hands.

"Well? I'm dying to see what farmboy's family bought for you." Marcurio said. Aela sniggered.

It was a pair of carefully decorated scale bracers – clearly made with more care than the pieces he usually sold. Around the wrists, he'd replaced some of the steel scales with silver ones, forming the Seal of Akatosh - which decorated all the Legion's banners. As the colours were quite similar, it remained discreet and almost hidden – it was only when light hit it that the Akaviri Dragon glimmered.

It was the kind of gift you get for _family_ , which was something I'd never wanted - and that Danica said I'd never have.

"He didn't buy these." I said, trying to hide how touched I was. "And he put some thought into it, too."

An awkward silence threatened, but only until Vignar snorted. His clan's derision for the Empire was no secret.

"Yes, I know Eorlund could've crafted something better, but it's a sweet detail!" I said.

"You can never have too many bracers. You'll need them when you start training again." Divines bless you, Farkas.

"Oh, why does he look sick at the idea of training?" Torvar said, pointing at Marcurio.

"Oy, be nice to my mage, there! I've grown fond of him, I need him alive."

"Cheers to that." Marcurio said, who did look a bit green.

"Don't sing victory yet. You do need training. Someone take care of that, please?"

"Well, someone is back to her old habits." Vilkas remarked, good naturedly.

"We all get one horrible flaw that makes the rest of the team look better, don't we? Torvar is too much of a mead expert, Farkas always sets off ALL floor traps, I'm a bossy princess, and you can't handle competition." I winked.

"Ah, you two are at it again! If only you could be more like me…" Aela joined in, to everyone's laughter.

"What, a Thief's Guild spy?" Vilkas replied, rising to the challenge.

Marcurio tugged at my sleeve and whispered. "What an adorable thing you have going on here. Caught you in your lie, though."

"What?"

"You said there was nothing going on with your, hmph, second in command?"

"There isn't."

"Prove it. He's prone to jealousy, you said?" He turned away from my ear and raised his voice. "Oh, Sira, don't forget to thank Athis for the flowers! Really cheered up your bunk at the Temple, didn't they?"

Daedra take the mage: Vilkas scent did change noticeably, even if just for one second.

"Yes, thanks for the reminder" I smiled, while kicking the evil mage under the table. "I know they were supposed to be eaten, but they were lovely, Athis."

Still smiling, I whispered to Marcurio. "You're dead. I'll have him train you tomorrow."

* * *

Forced rest is never as pleasurable as rebellious procrastination, so it took me less than three days to grow restless. An endless list of menial and frivolous inconveniences kept interfering with our departure: Jarl Balgruuf had to consult his Thane about the city's defences, while his mage needed a College student's opinion on issues that were far beyond my level.

Meanwhile, Vilkas had an endless list of decisions that required my opinion, which made no sense. In the three months I'd been away with Marcurio, Vilkas had managed to single-handedly fix everything that I'd neglected around Jorrvaskr, so why was he giving me the chance to wreck it again?

"He's trying to teach you something, you idiot! You will get the position back at some point, won't you?" Marcurio's response at my ranting was slightly blunter than usual, but easy to blame on the embarrassment of the horker tusk incident.

Ugh, Vilkas. I was barely done being puzzled by my stand-in's odd friendliness, and now Marcurio's little jealousy-inducing stunt had made me very aware of the undeniable changes in scent and heartbeat that resulted from every conversation we had.

There were clearly a lot of things being left unsaid between Vilkas and me – possibly just friendship, and concern, but maybe a bit of longing homesickness? – but it was best not to acknowledge them. After all, Vilkas had the wolf blood too, and he'd had it for longer: he was going to notice any change in my scent. Way to mess with my head, Marcurio.

"Either way, we still have an hour or two until the guards change shifts." He continued. We were standing on the rails by the Western gate, soaking up the sun and looking for privacy. "Do we really need all those resist fire potions to go to High Hrothgar? I'm mostly concerned about going hungry and cold again on the way up the mountain."

"Right, about the 'up the mountain' bit, maybe you'd rather wait for me in Ivarstead?"

"Sira! Are you planning to ditch me in that boring little town? After everything we've been through to get that Scroll, together! I've earned the right to participate in this… experiment of yours!"

"Marcus, listen. I'm really sorry."

"I don't care! And don't call me that! You don't get to have cute nicknames for me if you keep trying to exclude me!"

"I didn't think you'd mind! I mean, I'll still be paying you and everything. There's no need to..."

"Oh, of course you'll be paying me, that's all that matters. Clearly, I'm just some magicka for hire, I don't deserve the same considerations as your real Companions."

"That's not true." Except it kind of was: strictly speaking, he _was_ a hireling. "It's not my decision."

"Oh, did Vilkas decide for you, then?"

"No, the Greybeards did! They wouldn't let Aela come with me last time, so I simply figured you'd rather wait around at a warm inn in Ivarstead than in the freezing courtyard at High Hrothgar. There's nothing to do there, and nobody to talk to, you know?"

He stared at me in disbelief. I guess I deserved that.

"You're welcome to ask her if you want." I added.

"Oh, trust me, I will!"

"Well, fine!"

"So there's no other way up to the Throat, then?" He asked, more calmly now, but looking severely disappointed.

"Not that I know of. So unless you're willing to sneak their way through their monastery with an invisibility potion…"

"Sure, why not?"

"You're not serious."

"I'll have you know, my dear Sira, that unlike you heavy-footed Companions, I'm very skilled at stealth. Must be my superior intelligence, quick reflexes, and lithe body build…"

"And a lifetime of hiding nightly visitors from your parents..."

"Sure, that too. Either way, I'm up for it. I am scholar as well as an adventurer, I must witness the results of you trying to use an Elder Scroll. I won't even have to risk blindness myself! I'm not missing this for all the money in the world."

I rolled my eyes. Marcurio's arrogance could occasionally give an Altmer a run a for their money.

"Right. So you mentioned a secret plan to make ourselves rich? It better not involve scamming any more drug dealers."

"Of course not. I'm thinking something much more refined than that – and not quite a scam, either. I struck a deal with J'zargo before we left. He gave me a bunch of scrolls that needed testing – some flame cloak spell to use against undead, as if we weren't experts in dealing with draugr already – in exchange for a very rare spell book called Transmute, one that will turn iron ore into gold."

"That… is genius. Or evil."

"Both. So I say we stop at some old tomb on the way to Ivarstead, test J'zargo's scrolls, and then head there after we see the Greybeard master. Then we can just buy every bit of iron we find and resell it for five times the prize."

"I wholeheartedly endorse the plan, except for one detail."

"Oh, come on, Sira, don't be craven!"

"I'm sorry, but last time I lent myself as a test subject for one of you mages, I ended up green!"

"But this is for the draugr! Worst case scenario, it doesn't die, and I'll be just behind you to finish it off. Please?"

"What if this Transmute spell doesn't even work? I've never heard of it."

"It will. I've read about it before, it's not J'zargo's invention. Written instructions for it are incredibly hard to come by, for some reason" _Such as its potential to wreck the Empire's economy_ "but I promise I'll teach it to you properly."

"Why don't _you_ test the scrolls?"

"Fine. I will, and I will also keep all the money. You can be my steward after I buy half of Solitude."

Oh, the bloody asshole.

"Right, I cannot let you face such a danger by yourself. Speaking of unexpected risks, there's one thing I haven't mentioned about the Greybeard master, Paarthurnax."

"Will he try to harm me for sneaking up his mountain?"

"Not unless you attack him first, so it's very important that you accidentally don't."

"I don't usually accidentally attack old monks, Sira."

Sure you don't, you just shock them into paralysis. "He's a dragon. An ancient dragon, and Alduin's younger brother."

Marcurio dropped himself against the wall, looking for support. "Fuck, you better make me rich, girl."


	6. To each their own comfort

I knew he didn't want to talk to me, and I didn't really mind the breach of contract – I would've done exactly the same if I were him – but I knew I could not responsibly let him walk away from me after hearing that blood dragon's roar.

As good as he was in destruction magic, a second dragon was bound to be the last thing he wanted to face today - not just after the nightmare that was having Alduin hunt us down at the top of that mountain.

And to make it worst, _he escaped_. One to get away from the crazy mortals who very nearly killed him, and the other one to get away from the crazy bitch intent on getting him killed.

Every dragon I'd eaten so far protested fiercely at Alduin's cowardice. Avenging their hunger and my pride was not the smallest of my motivations, but nobody needed to know, right? I had only been stalking Marcurio for half an hour after he headed west of Ivarstead, when he finally left the protection of nearby trees and was spotted by the dragon.

The battle was quick and fierce – I was not the only angry one, and I now had a special shout to make the little bugger land. We'd just faced Alduin, we'd nearly killed it, we'd nearly died – we had a lot to make up for. As the dragon's scorched bones crumbled next to the road and I relished subduing its soul, I went mad. Indignation and violence seeped out of every pore in my skin, with an intensity I hadn't felt since that horrible night at the Western Watchtower. And we all know how _that_ ended up.

I heard Marcurio call my name from a distance – completely obscured by the 15 beasts fighting for vengeance inside me. I was going to lose it. I managed to turn and cry to him to stand back and let me be, only to run further away and Shout at a pile of rocks.

They crumbled and rolled down the hill, but the world was not destroyed enough. I took my swords and slashed at old tree trunks, Shouted ice at more bushes, screamed until my voice when raw, bloodied my knuckles against the ground, and finally kneeled down and tore a chunk of my own hair out.

It would've been so much easier to just shag someone.

 _Would I get to do so before being dragged into the afterlife?_

I thought he'd left – I was expecting him to simply continue onto Riften, seeing as he'd been so eager to abandon me on the way down from the Throat. It took me a while to recognise the hand in front of me, offering to help me up, as his.

"Damn you, woman! A quiet stroll down the woods is just impossible with you, isn't it?" He said, as I composed myself. "How long had you been following me?"

"A while. I'm surprised you didn't notice. I'm not stealthy, remember?"

He chuckled, but said nothing.

"Well, before we go our separate ways, I just wanted to thank you. I should've died up there, and down at Saarthal and Alftand, at least a dozen times. I sort of owe you everything now. I'm sorry." I said.

"Well, I suppose I would've died as well if it weren't for you. Of course, I wouldn't have been dragged into most of that danger… but eventually one of these lone dragons would've found me and eaten me all the same." He walked up towards the river and paused for a while before turning back to me. "I suppose if you die, we'll all die as well and I won't even have the chance to spend all the gold I've made with you. So be it." He smirked.

Ah, the idiot was going to make me beg!

"Please stay, Marcurio. Don't leave me, I won't last a day without you, oh great master of the Arcane." I said, trying really hard not to roll my eyes too much.

"Was that so hard?"

"You manipulative bastard!" I laughed, approaching him. "Out of curiosity, when exactly did it become an attention-seeking stunt?"

He threw himself on a patch of grass next to the river and took off his shoes.

"After the dragon found me, if I'm to be honest."

"What, that puny blood dragon?" I teased, as I rummaged my pockets for a slice of apple pie. "Hardly a task for someone like you, I hope?"

"You blood-thirsty hero, there's no such thing as a puny dragon." He took the peace offering and munched for a while. "You are still manipulative, untrustworthy, clumsy, and have a unique ability to attract danger, but you also have a unique dragon-killing shout, so I guess that makes you my best choice at staying alive."

"Am I really so untrustworthy?"

"Of course not! You just have a penchant for leaving out key pieces of information out of every task you set out in front of me."

"Ah, well, if it's just that…"

"This is no joke, Sira! At the very least, I think I deserve more information than the one usually granted to mere _hirelings_." He spat as he said the last word. What's with all the needy men in my life? If I didn't need them, I'd castrate them all, I swear.

"I really didn't know Alduin would be there. I know I don't have the best track record so you may not believe me, but it's the truth. I've seen the World Eater twice before, once at Helgen where I got all the scars on my leg, and once at Kynesgrove, where I literally pissed myself." I stopped for a few seconds so he'd have enough time to finish chuckling. "If I'd known Alduin would come looking for us earlier, I wouldn't just not have taken you there – I would've done anything to avoid the face-off myself."

He remained pensive for a while, as if pondering whether to believe me.

"And afterwards? All that roaring back and forth with the old dragon? That was terrifying, by the way. I didn't know if he was giving you advice or asking for food."

"Instructions. Not as many as I'd liked, but dragon speech is slow and complex. A way to chase after Alduin and finish the job once and for all."

I repeated what Paarthurnax had said about Alduin escaping to a secret temple to regain his strength, and the plot to force one of his lieutenants to show me the way by trapping it inside Dragonsreach. I carefully left out the part where that temple was supposed to allow me to enter Sovngarde. The idea of joining the dead was too terrifying to even mutter out loud.

"So what now? Do we do what Paarthurnax said? Can we still trust him?" he asked, placing his hand reassuringly on my shoulder.

My own blood had frozen when Paarthurnax said Alduin would be coming, but back then I had not been bothered with Marcurio's reaction.

"He definitely knew Alduin was coming, which makes me doubt whether this dragon trap scheme is worth anything." I replied. "I'd rather not think about it. The truth is, we have no better alternative, or anyone else to trust." I stressed the we in the same way he had. The terms of our relationship were going to change, even if the details remained unspoken.

"Maybe Esbern can confirm that story about Dragonsreach?" Clearly more relaxed now, he asked.

"Unnecessary. I'd heard it before from Jarl Balgruuf himself. I suppose that should make it easier to convince him of letting us burn his palace down." I didn't really believe that, but I made an effort to sound reassuring. Was that still a lie?

"We won't know until we ask." He pointed out. "So I say we pay a visit to your Blades anyway, via Winterhold, and make ourselves rich in the way, before we try to swindle Balgruuf."

That sounded like a long, illogical detour, so of course I immediately agreed. So what if Alduin was feeding off the souls of the Nord dead? He didn't need to eat mine so soon.

"Sounds like the perfect task for two silver-tongued Imperials. I absolutely cannot miss J'zargo's face when we tell him his bloody scrolls exploded on me. Eyebrows are a nightmare to grow back." I added, while playing with some twigs.

"Ah, please! It will even out with the other one, stop whining about it already." He jumped knee-deep in the river and washed his face. "So, do you think history will remember me as well as the mighty Dragonborn?"

"I hope not, for your sake. I have the horrible feeling that we'll do plenty we'll wish to forget ourselves before this mess is over."

"Oh, but think of the free drinks!"

* * *

The Drunken Hunstman, marginally less centric than the Bannered Mare, was all the discretion we could hope for inside Whiterun – and it still required drinking in our room rather than the common room, and doing business with a Khajiit caravan and the Warmaiden, instead of Belethor and Eorlund.

Jarl Balgruuf had agreed to our main request – but under harsh conditions. Personally, I'd have almost preferred it if he'd just said no, instead of asking us to stop the bloody civil war. Fortunately, Marcurio's spirits weren't so low.

"Stop the hand-wringing, Sira. Let's just deal with this, one step at a time." He said, as he poured himself more Honningbrew.

"All seven thousand of them."

"Right attitude, but with less drama. So we go back to High Hrothgar and we secure Arngeir's permission. He won't refuse the Dragonborn, but he'll be more helpful if we don't simply inform him via courier. As easy as it gets, except on our butts."

"Then we'll need to be received by both sides. Which side you reckon we should address first? I have the feeling General Tullius doesn't keep with the Nord tradition of giving audience to everyone who knocks on their door, and Ulfric may as well make an exception to that rule when it's two Imperials concerned."

"Except one imperial is the Dragonborn, a beloved Nordic legend with strong links to his beloved Talos. Just wear a helmet to hide your hair so you'll look more like a real Nord. If he receives us, it's a done deal, Tullius won't allow himself to be outdone."

"That's only if Ulfric receives us _and_ agrees to come to the summit."

"Forget the ifs. He will agree. We'll make him agree. No, better yet, the people of Windhelm will make him agree, once we make sure they all know who you are, what you can do, and what you represent."

"And what do I represent, exactly?"

"Legendary support for his cause, from the blood of Talos himself?"

"You do realise that I neither support Ulfric nor have the smallest shred of evidence that I have any blood link with Tiber Septim?"

"Well, I was hoping you wouldn't begin the audience with that."

"Ah, so you want me to lie?"

"Oh, like that's such a big issue for you now. It doesn't matter who we support, really. He trained with the Greybeards, he's clearly quite comfortable with Shouting your way into politics. But Tullius, with all his more civilised chain of command, cannot afford to look like the inflexible one – especially if it's seen as disrespecting local traditions."

"A fine line between self-advertising and treason we'll be walking. Vilkas would be so proud of you." I clinked our tankards together, as I said that.

"Meh, like he has eyes left for me. He can take all the comfort he wants in his honour, we're the ones saving the world." Marcurio said, all smugness. He's liking the we business – that was good, all things considered.

"Riiight, so back to the step-by-step method… I need a couple of my finest gowns and jewellery, and maybe two giftable daggers to oil some hinges?"

"We can enchant two nice Skyforge Steel daggers. Well, I can."

"All of that, without being asked too many questions by the Companions, and if possible, without being noticed by the rest of the city. Last thing we want is for the Grey-Manes and the Battle- Borns to hear of this and begin knifing each other by the Gildergreen again."

Marcurio raised an eyebrow at my last statement.

"Oh, that happened. Two years ago, apparently, it was a wretched business that costed both clans dearly. If we rekindle that spark, Balgruuf will withdraw his support, rest assured of that." I explained.

"Great. That prospect is worth another slice of cheese, I hope?"

"By all means. And while we're celebrating, here." I stood up and took a big coin purse and threw it at him.

"What's this? There must be at least 800 septims here!" He said, quite surprised.

"835. That's your half of what I sold to the caravan and the Valeriuses. Three glass daggers, an ebony greatsword, two steel axes, four garnets, and 18 transmuted gold ingots. As of right now, you're no longer my hireling. Cheers to that."

"My equal half?" He said, blinking slowly like some sort of impaired Khajiit.

"What does half mean in the capital, my dear?"

He stood up and hugged me.

"Oh, Sira! This is the most touching thing anyone's ever done for me. Pity we don't have proper wine to toast to this."

"I do hope those tears are fake, you milkdrinker."


	7. Head held up high

Whatever little joy we had during the uncomfortable journey north stemmed from Marcurio's delight at Chief, his new horse. Linea was jealous: I suspect she was not oblivious to the unfortunate implications of such a name choice. Or perhaps Farkas was right and we all like to put pieces of ourselves in our animals.

Either way, I'd sworn myself never to return to this shithole, and here I was, following a most condescending plan to make the people of Windhelm love me: just go around being nice to everybody, doing things for people. For free.

I was raised better than this.

If the prospect of licking Ulfric's behind was already a mortal wound on my vanity, forcing myself to stand idly before the bullies that terrorised the Grey Quarter nearly drove me to pieces. The dragon refused to be tamed, but one of the bullies' leaders was a Stone-Fist, kin to one of Ulfric's generals. I had to be pushed back to Candlehearth Hall so I wouldn't irreversibly ruin our reputation in town.

"We'll go back to that Cornerclub some other day, I suppose. I am dying to see it, I wonder if it will be as interesting as the one hidden behind Tiber Septim Plaza…" Marcurio chattered while pushing me upstairs.

Well, at least here I'd get the privacy of my own room – not that he didn't seem more than willing to hang out in mine, if at least to have someone to listen to his incessant chatter. It was the only auspicious sign we'd seen in Windhelm the entire morning.

"Oh, I do want to hear what your perverted mind considers interesting for a cornerclub. I believe the New Gnisis is just a tavern, to be honest."

"How disappointing. The Praetor's Cornerclub, on the other hand, hid some of the most beautiful men in the Capital, lost among some of its worst."

"Hate to disappoint you, Marcus, but I don't think you'll find such an establishment anywhere in Skyrim. They hardly seem necessary anyway, if you can try your luck at a normal tavern without being beaten up." I pointed out, while attempting to detangle my curls. "Welcome to the free-thinking, frozen North!"

"Old fears die hard, I guess. I'm always terrified of buying any man a drink. What's stopping him from dragging me back out and maiming me in retaliation?"

"Your mastery of destruction magic?" He scoffed at my simple suggestion.

"You ought to admit, we have it harder than most. At the very least, most men are into women, so your chances of success are always higher."

"Right. I am a woman, after all, in addition to the bloody Dragonborn. Either way, if you need pointers, our beloved Ysolda told me once that Elrindir had a thing going for the younger Battle-Born, Jon."

Ah, that spiked his interest.

"The one who's overly fond of his Imperial armour? He's a real looker. A bit overpresumptuous, but smart."

"Now you're just describing yourself. Anyway, that's Idolaf you're thinking about, and he's married, so no. Jon's the bard, remember him? Wears a ponytail, just like yours. He's taken now, rumour has it, some sort of secret liason with a Gray-Mane girl."

"And Ysolda told you all this? Well, there goes my chance. What about Elrindir? Isn't he the owner of the Inn we were staying at? Why am I only learning about this now?"

"I'm sorry, it didn't come up, I guess. Ugh, stuck again." I winced, as my comb risked losing a few teeth right above my ear.

"Here, allow me. Anything else I should know?"

"Vilkas says his nicer half also leans both ways. However, Farkas claims it was just the one time, but he's not closing himself to anything. That seems to be the custom here, actually, if Ysolda is to be believed about Carlotta and Uthgerd - I wouldn't, though, the woman's imagination has been affected by the skooma, I swear."

"But dear Vilkas should stay untouched, I bet? I fear you are enjoying this conversation too much, giving me all these false leads. I should go offer our services around the common room before the lunch rush passes." He placed my comb on the dresser and stepped outside.

"Aye, you go get them, sabre cat."

* * *

Vilkas was right: The Dragonborn Comes was one hell of an annoying song. However, I could see the logic behind getting Luaffyn, the local bard, to play it at regular intervals.

By next morning, at least, work was lined up before us, although most of it rather menial and unlikely to be worthy of the attention of anyone at the Palace of Kings. The closest thing we got was to deliver something for his court wizard – which Marcurio was able to do while being escorted by a guard during his entire time there.

Welcome to the free-thinking North, indeed – where everyone was equal to the strength of their own arms, provided they belonged to the right race.

Meanwhile, my constant efforts to stay as uninvolved as possible with anything concerning the city's Dunmer population were gnawing at my conscience (turns out, I still had one), but there was no way around it: most of the city's guards were openly taunting anyone deemed to be an "elf lover", and we were already dealing with enough derision as it was.

I could almost not blame Windhelm's citizens over it, desperate as they seemed in their grim, rundown city. Beggars had to eat, and even rich families were terrified of the political situation, with a major clan having lost a daughter to a rather gruesome killer. At least nobody was falsely accusing us of the murders, like the Solitude guards tried to do with Athis that one time.

Shit, Athis. I'm failing you as well with my inaction, my friend.

Our moods turned sour rather quickly – even Marcurio lost his signature upbeat quirks after just two days. Not only did he look much more the Cyrod than I did (I could always pass off so long as I kept my helmet on and my mouth shut), but he was a mage, which made him the recipient of the harshest namecalling. Either way, it seemed like our closest chance at surmounting prejudice was to summon a dragon and battle it front of everyone.

"You can summon dragons? What, with a shout?" He asked, incredulously, after I mentioned the possibility over dinner.

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I can't. And even if I could, I wouldn't, not to a city full of people. It wouldn't earn us anyone's love."

"So what do we do? Should we just walk in and demand an audience? Cross our fingers they don't take us straight to a dungeon?"

"We may as well, right? We'll just walk in there with our heads held high, like the criminals we're not, and if they jail us, they jail us, and they can be eaten by bloody Alduin, and they'll deserve every bit of it."

"You don't mean that, do you, Sira?"

"Not really. But maybe I could Shout the walls of the dungeon down? It would prove my Thu'um to be stronger than Ulfric's, at least."

"Well, something will come up, I'm sure. In the meantime, what do you think of fetching a legendary sword, for 800 septims?" He offered. "I could use the workout."

"Say again?"

"Oengul, down at the blacksmith quarters, wants a legendary sword, one that belonged to Queen Freydis, to use it as a model for a newer legendary sword. He's offering 800 septims, we could negotiate for one thousand if you want."

"Are you kidding me? How long have you known this?"

"Ha! I knew this would make you excited. It's a fair bit of coin-"

"Mate, are you daft? A legendary sword, and you're worried about coin? Did your friend the blacksmith tell you who the sword was for?"

"I didn't ask, no. Unlike some, I don't make an art out of gossip."

"You anvil-headed packmule. Let's go, he might still be open."

"Hey, what's with the aggression?"

"Don't you see? If that new sword is for someone at the Palace, we may as well pay him to let us do it!"

Queen Freydis may have been the biggest stroke of luck I've had my entire time in Skyrim. Once we found a new, simple purpose, everything else fell into place neatly. The legendary sword's replica was commissioned for Jarl Ulfric himself, so I was quick to offer Oengul to fetch it for free, provided he would let us deliver it once the final product was ready.

Unsurprisingly, he agreed, and by the time we were back from Cragwallow Slope with the sword, we had ourselves a week's free time until the sword's replica was ready, and a good word put for us with Jorleif, the Palace's own steward. Jorleif was too preoccupied with the serial killer to pay us much attention, but he also paid no mind to our accents when granting us the power to investigate them.

We didn't do much investigating beyond breaking into the house of one of the victim's. Marcurio decided upon stepping in that the place reeked of necromancy, and immediately went to ask the court mage about it. Who ever said College credentials are useless? He was more than happy than share the results of his own research – being the court mage in a city that despises magic must be a lonesome occupation – and handed us the chance to predict the next attack, saving the victim's life and catching the killer in one clean swoop.

If it sounds unbelievably easy, it's because it certainly felt like it: ten days of patient cultivation of every possible contact yielded abrupt results nearly overnight.

On the evening of Morndas, 29th of Midyear we had a silent, tense supper, surrounded by muttered curses and suspicious stares. On Tirdas the 30th – my birthday, of all days – we broke our fasts toasted as heroes, defeaters of the dreaded Butcher, protectors of the people of Windhelm. That very same evening, we were welcomed into the Palace of Kings for supper, heads held high, to petition for peace.

* * *

The palace's halls looked the way all of Windhelm was supposed to look during peacetime, which did not fully account for the contrast: the main table winced under the weight of the large amounts of unremarkably plain fare – nobody inside here was going hungry, but it was clear their idea of kingly luxury was quite more austere compared to that of Cyrodiil.

Our entrance had been carefully calculated by Marcurio's skills at showmanship: we wore our finest fabrics, as the occasion demanded, in the harshest way possible. Marcurio wore scaled gauntlets under his velvet sleeves, to help the illusion that he actually knew how to use the Shield of Ysgramor that he carried two steps behind me. We kept our necks stiff and made the noise of our scaled boots appear an accident, and I kept my neck clear of any fur to better exhibit the amulet of Talos over the rich blue of my clothes.

The deep curtseys that would've been expected at Solitude were replaced by an agile bow, to show off my unusual height and the springs of my legs. Instead of fighting with my hair to copy the airy styles of noblewomen, my wiry curls were divided in hundreds of tiny braids, then brought upwards in a bun and held in place with a plain silver circlet – which made me appear half an inch taller, and let's face it, made my pointy features look more like a defiance than a flaw. Surely we were outlanders, but we appropriated every local ideal we could: whichever side we chose in the war, eventually, I would side with Skyrim.

Nevertheless, Ulfric's expression remained distant, but his housecarl's clear efforts to appear distrustful showed we were landing close to the intended target.

After staring at me for a few seconds, he signalled his permission to sit and took the first sip of wine.

"We shared a cart once, didn't we?"

He talked slowly, but dispassionately.

"I had not expected my Jarl to remember."

"It wasn't an experience easy to forget. Most people who face a dragon never live to tell it. Of course, if word on the street is true, you've faced several. Is that why the Thalmor wanted you dead?"

Attributing my death sentence to a common enemy could only be an olive branch. This was too easy. Where was the catch?

"I'm afraid not. It was my first time with a dragon, they couldn't have known." I tried to smile at the coy reference. "Either way, I did little else beyond crawling and running." He passed over his goblet, and I took a sip.

"But you're better now – again, if tales are true."

"Tales probably exaggerate, but they're based on the truth. I am the Dragonborn."

"That means that dragon was Alduin." He seemed to have lowered his defences a bit, since he'd begun to look concerned.

I passed the goblet to Marcurio.

"I am glad that you remember Helgen, my jarl. It will save us time."

"Very well, milady. It's good that you don't want to waste time on pleasantries. Clearly you're not here to join my ranks, otherwise you would've looked for Galmar Stone-Fist a week ago and saved yourselves all the ceremony."

I turned to Marcurio, who was already sending the goblet to its next recipient.

"We bring a message from the Greybeards." Marcurio said.

"Of course. Ysmir, Dragon of the North, was to be summoned for guidance as soon as she revelead herself." He gave an odd side smile. "I always knew it would turn out to be a woman, though I did not expect to see it in my lifetime."

I knew _that_ was bullshit, but I had to tip my hat at the strategy.

"I do hope Arngeir pays whatever amount you wagered." I said. He chuckled.

"About time they turned their gaze from the skies. What does Arngeir want?"

"Peace, of course." I said, and we all chuckled.

"Temporary peace, for now. The Greybeards want to open negotiations for a ceasefire, until the dragon menace is dealt with." Marcurio said. Ulfric kept chuckling while he returned the goblet to me.

"And you are… the Dragonborn's steward? Housecarl? Bethrothed?"

There's an accusation we did not expect. I sensed Marcurio's hair rise all over his back – and this is supposed to be the quirky bookworm who never gets angry.

"He is my right hand and my closest ally. I do hope you have an equivalent person in your life." I quickly intervened, sending the goblet towards Galmar this time.

"Apologies, milady. I could not resist to test your… diplomatic ability." Sure you couldn't, asshole. Just like you couldn't help to offend a messenger for the sake of a childish joke.

He continued. "I have the highest respect for my former masters, but it's clear politics are not their field. The situation is far from simple. I can't afford to appear weak, not with many jarls still refusing to acknowledge me as their King."

"I understand, my jarl. Weak leaders are not to be followed. But what's the point of leading a mountain of ashes? Wouldn't you agree that in order to liberate Skyrim" I tried my best not to twist my lips as I said that "we must first make sure Nirn is not devoured by Alduin?"

He recovered the goblet and stared at its contents, pensive. Food began to be passed around – pork, mutton, rich rabbit stews, braided bread.

"There is no venison at your table, my Jarl." I pointed out.

"How dare you criticize the High King's hospitality, you decadent…" Galmar's chest puffed up in indignation.

"I am not criticising, sir. On the contrary, I am quite thankful for its absence. I have not been able to stand its scent either, ever since."

Ulfric looked up from his goblet.

"What did Tullius reply to the Greybeards' gracious request?" He asked.

"I shall let you know as soon as we consult him."

"So I was deemed the easiest one to swindle?"

"The easiest one to reason with, my Jarl. You have been educated by the Greybeards, you know the legends, you love the land. You know Alduin grows stronger every day. You know once this petty feud is over, every soul will count so Tamriel can be freed from the Thalmor."

"Does this look like a petty feud to you? Have you no respect for Talos?"

"I have the highest respect for Talos, but I cannot preserve his legacy without your help, my Jarl."

He placed the empty goblet on the table and stood up.

"Then I'll be waiting for your message with a date for the summit, Dragonborn." He said, rushedly for the first time, before being followed out by Galmar and three more men.

* * *

Despite Marcurio's constant japes about it, I'm not a hopeless sneak – and thanks to his canny Muffle charm, nobody heard us enter Jorrvaskr two hours before dawn. The secret didn't last long, of course, but it guaranteed a brief respite.

Nevertheless, both Vilkas and Aela's were already _casually_ waiting for me right outside my bedroom door, looking less than pleased.

"Ah, look what's been hiding in the Harbinger's chambers. I feared a skeever infestation" Vilkas said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Good morning to you too. I was hoping not to disturb your sleep."

"Oh, spare us the court talk." Aela interjected, harshly. "You took off to try out that Elder Scroll nearly three weeks ago, and then we didn't get a single line from you."

"I thought Companions were free to come and go as they pleased?"

"Not if they're our Harbinger!" She hollered.

"Vilkas is acting Harbinger, remember?"

"Nevertheless, Sira – friends let each other know they haven't been killed by dragons or swallowed up by Oblivion." He responded, somewhat more coolly.

"Friends give each other a chance to explain themselves before cornering each other." As much as I'd have preferred to walk out on their interrogation, Aela's beastly expression made me think better of it. I sighed and brushed my hair away from my eyes to buy myself some time.

"Is Marcurio up yet? We have a lot to tell you, and it's all rather delicate."

"He was drying his face on the whelp room five minutes ago, after Torvar dumped some chilled water on him." Aela said.

"Good. He'll come, then. Meanwhile, please close the door. I know this is not our style, but this information is best kept for the Circle only." Immediately, Vilkas' legs sprung up towards the door. He hollered for Farkas and Athis, and closed the studio's door behind him.

Clearly, I wasn't walking away without spilling the full tale.

"We ran into Alduin at High Hrothgar. He came close enough to killing us, but we came even closer to killing him – don't get too excited, he escaped. He's gone into hiding."

"How can such a huge dragon hide?" Aela asked, while Farkas entered. He nodded towards me quickly, and didn't appear too mad.

 _In bloody Sovengarde, apparently._ "I don't know, he can fly places. Either way, Paarthurnax came up with a plan. We're going to capture one of the members of _his_ Circle and have him tell us where, exactly."

"You're mad."

"Indeed I am, but this is what we're doing."

"Where are you planning to keep this pet of yours? Our training yard?" Aela continued, still incredulous.

"Of course not. She's using Dragonsreach, obviously. How are you going to convince Jarl Balgruuf of that?"

"There's the Smart Twin we all know and love." Marcurio appeared, Athis in tow, right behind us. How long had he been eavesdropping again?

"He said he'd let us have his palace if we can guarantee neither Stormcloaks nor Imperials will attack Whiterun in the meantime."

"So he refused." Added Athis.

"He did not. He just set impossible terms." Vilkas rebutted.

"Not impossible if you haven't tried."

"Thank you, Farkas. So we had to sneak into Windhelm, and so far Jarl Ulfric says he's game for a truce – if we can convince Tullius. His second in command was not so pleased about it and had us thrown from the city the second Ulfric turned around."

"Are you going to Solitude now?"

"Ideally, but we can't just ride there, swords unsheathed, and expect to be received." Marcurio explained. "The fact that we're from Cyrodiil made Windhelm a proper nightmare, but if anyone in Solitude knows we've been negotiating with Ulfric, we'll get tried for treason. There's scouts from both sides randomly searching peddlers and couriers. I advised Sira to delay sending word."

He hadn't, we just sort of forgot until our notoriety in Windhelm grew a bit too much, but I was glad he was willing to take that blame. Only Aela continued to look hurt.

"We must do what we can to reinforce the message of the Companions being a neutral force, then." Vilkas continued, matter-of-factly. "Are the peace talks to be held up in High Hrothgar? It's neutral sacred ground, but you'll be needing neutral agents to guarantee security as well."

I hadn't thought much of the possibility of Galmar knifing a Legate during the talks - or about _any_ of the logistics of the actual summit, for that matter. Clearly I don't know what I'm doing.

"For a start. All those details have to wait until after I get the Legion's agreement, though. In the meantime, let's make sure Ria, Njada, and Vignar keep their political opinions to themselves."

"Done deal. I'll talk to them." Aela said.

"We also need to discreetly look into Whiterun's defences. Should the talks end badly, it may spur either side to attempt a siege. Athis, you get along with the guards. Take Jerome for reconnaissance training, please. And there's a famine to get ready for, as well."

The twins looked up, anxiously. It was an ugly word – and they weren't familiar enough with it.

"Half the harvest between here and Riften has been lost already to dragonfire or confiscated by the war effort. We've had plenty of chances to see it. We need to keep our food stores full, and draft something for the long term so they stay that way. We also need to convert as much as our gold to non-perishable goods as possible – steel ingots and fuel, mostly. Also, gems. They can give us the upper hand in case we need a bargaining tool that can be moved discreetly."

They looked ridiculously confused at that idea.

"Already Carlotta has little flour to sell, but you want to hoard it?" Farkas asked.

"If we don't, someone else will. At least we know ourselves to be decent enough to share, if it gets that bad." Disapproval continued to surround me. "Clearly most of you have never seen a proper famine. Should I remind you that I have?"

Of course not, Sira. Like you ever tell anyone the truth about your life at the docks.

"The years following the Great War were harsh on Anvil. We trade most of our crops, and the sea routes were blockaded by the Dominion. Trust me, I know what it looks like when an entire town runs out of food." I continued.

"You'll have to excuse our incredulity. You always look too posh to have known proper hunger." Marcurio said, trying to break the tension.

"I have no desire to know it." Vilkas replied. "Can you work something out while at Solitude? Maybe deal directly with the East Empire Company? It would give you a proper alibi, too."

"That'd be ideal, yes. I'd need full powers to act on your behalf, Vilkas. Anything should be clearly signed on your name, in case I do find Alduin and it gets… rough." I replied.

"For Stendarr's sake, Sira, don't talk like that!" Farkas cut me off, covering his eyes with his right hand.

"I'm just trying to make sure…"

"Enough, you two! Can we work out the details after breakfast? Let's just… give you time to get properly cleaned and dressed." Athis said, opening my studio's door. Everyone but Aela began walking out.

"Nice way to remind me that I'm wearing a filthy belted tunic and that I haven't washed my hair in a week, right?" I told her, smirking.

"You've replaced me with a mage." She said, not giving in to the joke.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Just set the date for Jerome's Trial, so I can be off to Sky Haven Temple already. Please."

"Please stay."

"Until when? Until it's all taken care of and we can go back to what it used to be, tracking deer all night along with Skjorr, behind Kodlak's back? Skjorr is dead, Kodlak is dead, and you're already making plans for your own death."

"Oh, for Meridia's sake, Aela, let's not get melodramatic. This isn't you. Are you that jealous of Marcus?"

"When did you started worshipping Daedra? This isn't you either."

Ahh, crap. Athis will have my head for this.

"Oh, so only Hircine is allowed now? _Fine._ Then come with us to Solitude and remind me of who I am." The tiniest glimpse of a smile became visible, at last. "I'll need a proper entourage if I'm to be taken seriously by the legion, after all."

Six months ago, her laughter at that would've shaken the walls. Instead, she smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder, but that was enough for now.


	8. Consolation imagery

Neither would ever feel like home, but Solitude was always the day to Windhelm's stormy nights. The Eastern Empire's Trading Company warehouses, moreover, were so close to the nice side of Anvil's wharfs that I could almost pretend I had never left home – I was simply reborn as a rich trader.

Talk about believing your own lies.

Either way, the second after I arranged for our rooms at the Winking Skeever, I ran to the wharfs, while Aela stayed behind to visit the Fletcher.

"She's a cheery one, isn't she?" Marcurio asked, as he tried to locate a Bosmer captain we'd been recommended.

"She wasn't always like this."

"I thought she had it in for me, at first. So was there a specific purpose for bringing her along, or just to upset Vilkas?"

"I couldn't just miss her company?"

"Sure, if I didn't know you have a tendency to keep hidden motives around."

I deserved that mistrust, I knew.

"She grieves. I want to help her. I thought she could use a change of scenery."

"Fair enough. So she's the one whose lover got murdered by bandits?" Talking about Skjorr and Kodlak had been too hard to do without mentioning the beast blood, so I'd always kept details vague.

"Right. She's always been a bit of a loner, but… she's no milkdrinker, allright?"

"I'd never say she was. I've seen these states of… prolonged mourning before. It's always the brave, tough ones that get it the worse… the Legion heroes who came home from the war and just lost their flame, in a way. A priest once told me that some people are just called to the plane of the dead ahead of time – and some do try to take themselves there. There was one old mage at the Arcane University who was convinced he could develop a potion to cure it."

"He didn't, I take it."

"Nope, but I've seen a couple of people recover."

"What do I do, then?"

"Make sure she keeps something to pull her back towards the living? Tickle her until she laughs so hard that she pisses herself and remembers what it feels like?" He stared rather sadly at me. "It's the one thing I won't pretend to be an expert on."

It dawned on me that he knew _prolonged mourning_ first hand.

"Well, if you ever want to… discuss what works and doesn't, I'm all ears. You think the tiny one in the rabbit-skin hat is our man?" I said, pointing at a candidate.

"Yes, he looks like someone who just closed a nice deal. I'm not so sure about this scheme of yours, by the way – buying a harvest that doesn't exist yet. This could cause a famine."

"It's a gamble, certainly. Which is why I'm using my own money for it, and not the one Vilkas gave me. We may have to eat less beef for a while, at most." I replied, handing him over the piece of paper with my calculations.

"Of course, if this works out nicely, you'll own Proudspire Manor and have garnets glued to every lock, next year. I want in – but only a little bit."

"Milkdrinker."

"Sleaze". He jested.

"I must admire the absolute honesty you keep with each other." Aela's voice came from behind us. "Do you need me to stick his head in brine, my Harbinger?"

"That would be a waste of olives, my dear. How fares the Fletcher?"

"Quite richer than this morning, and quite full of interesting information, too. It might be easier to get Tullius' ear than expected."

"Oh, do share. The lesser hinges to oil, the better." Marcurio said.

"Just one, big, bulky hinge." She winked, and for a second my friend was back. This could spell trouble.

"Apparently, General Tullius' personal guard, which is always assigned on a yearly basis, is not due to change until the end of Sun's Height… meaning our dear Harbinger knows someone with two weeks of service left there."

"No, I don't." I immediately said.

"Oh, have some priorities, Sira!" she cried out, amusedly.

"What am I missing here?" Marcurio asked. "Ooooh! 'A strong soldier in Solitude, probably no longer waiting for a letter!' And you knew this!"

Ahh, crap, no way out.

"I really did assume he would've been assigned somewhere else by now."

"LIES!" the both said, in unison. I'm not liking this alliance.

"Marcurio, you do something about her hair, I'll secure our rooms. She is not allowed to disappear tonight." Aela said, excited to be the one giving the orders for once.

"Get a hot tub ready. I intend to rub some scented soap on her until her neck is pink."

"I'll shout you two to pieces." I said.

"Admit it, you're excited. So is this the blacksmith's nephew? Dear old farmboy?"

I groaned in frustration, but they were too excited to care. At least they were getting along.

* * *

Hair tightly plaid and nose hidden under a novice hood, I was hard enough to recognise after dusk. I'd been waiting by the barracks' gates since the last change of guard, and the bustle of incoming green boys and hollering captains made me fear I'd missed Hadvar.

After all, once they've been all dressed in the same uniforms and trained to walk similarly, all men were hard to tell apart. It'd been at least an hour since the latest rush had passed.

Maybe I should come back tomorrow?

There was always the possibility that he had been assigned somewhere else, mid-commission. It wasn't unheard of. Hopefully, he'd been sent somewhere relatively safe. Maybe he got assigned to the frontlines in some skirmish and had died a hero's death.

No, Sira, of course he didn't. He'd made Tullius personal guard, of course they wouldn't waste him in the frontlines.

The night was not very dark, but getting chilly. Skyrim summer my arse. Odd stares surrounded me… what's a lone woman doing waiting by the barracks? The Legion is not exactly known for being welcoming to women, and even in Skyrim, you could see maybe one female auxiliary for every six or eight males. It made the ogling insolent, to say the least.

I'm the bloody Dragonborn, wankers. Show some respect! And they say Stormcloaks are the unpolished brutes.

"Two wagons full of potatoes burnt to a crisp in a second, that's all Legate Taurinus could think about. At least the men we had guarding them escaped. The Morthal garrison will have to bake something else for a week or two."

A group of three soldiers approached the gates: two of them clearly Nords, the one speaking sounded like he was from somewhere in the West Weald.

"Eh, I heard Arnvir saw one of his boots melt."

"Great, do you think he'll need help from us buying a new set?" That voice and such kindness could only be Hadvar's. I shook myself up almost instantly and strode towards the trio.

"Mara be blessed, I was beginning to fear you wouldn't be here." I muttered as soon as I reached them. I lifted my right hand to remove my hood, but he immediately took it between his and stopped me.

His friends looked startled at first, but it only took West Weald five seconds to let go of a badly-repressed chuckle.

Hadvar looked down for a second before starting laughing.

"Not here to take your oath, I guess?" He asked.

"Sorry, not this time."

"Dion, Skald, why don't you go ahead?"

I barely registered their (probably snarky) reply, as he took my arm and began leading me away.

He hadn't yelled at me or thrown me out, at least, which was an improvement over our last meeting. Nevertheless, it was a tense and silent walk towards Castle Dour's main gate. He let go of my arm as soon as we reached the still-crowded main street.

I wouldn't have minded some yelling, at this point. Gods, why must this man be so collected?

"It's good to see you, Sira." He said, at last, with a hint of a step forward.

"You look well. In one piece."

"I look like shit. It's been a hard day. You look nice, though, regular clothes suit you."

"Thanks. I left my shiny things at the Inn."

"It's fine. You don't need them anyway. The Companions treating you well, I hope?"

Is this the level of small talk we were doomed to? Clearly I was going to have to be the one to take the plunge into personal territory - audience with Tullius be damned.

"Always. Better than I'm treating them, at least." Awkward pause followed. "The hardships of leadership eventually caught up with me, I guess."

"So what brings you to the big city?"

"Officially, a big grain purchase. Whiterun is preparing for poor harvest. Have you been up to anything interesting?"

"Nope. I've got just three weeks left in the General's personal guard, and he just doesn't leave the city much. Not since Helgen."

"So you're staying safe. I'm glad to hear that."

"Yes, I only have to hear about the fire, blood, and famine everywhere, but I get to keep my own hide intact." He snapped, abruptly on the defensive.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I'm just glad to see you."

"Right. I suppose I should get back now..."

Oh, fuck. Take the plunge already, Sira, you're not 15 anymore.

"Have dinner with me. Please." I blurted out. "I owe you a pleasant evening, I think."

"No, you don't." He grabbed my hand. "Fredas is clam chowder night at the Skeever, though, if you're interested."

"Sure."

"One condition."

"Oh?"

"How old are you really, _Dragonborn_?"

"I turned 28 last week, _captain_."

He chuckled.

"What else was a lie?"

 _Everything._

"Nothing."

"Then why lie about that of all things?"

"I don't know... I thought you were handsome and didn't want you to think me a spinster? I wasn't Dragonborn back then. Just a silly girl who got into a bigger adventure that she could handle."

"You Imperials are all mad. If there's something I've learned this year... Nevermind, let's get food."

* * *

Nord mead and hot broths always make for a pleasant atmosphere. Hadvar did not hate me, and after a couple of mouthfuls, most of the awkwardness had washed away and we were chatting quite merrily - almost like two adults with nothing to resent.

Almost.

I could smell his fear as he took a big gulp of ale (clearly for courage) and finally took my hand. Is he still scared of me?

"I'm sorry I was such an idiot last time. I had no right to get so upset over... Anything, really. It took me a while to realise why I was so angry to see you."

Ah, so we're finally acknowledging that big hairy mammoth in the back of the room.

"Because I mocked you and then didn't keep my promise."

"Yes, but I deserved to be mocked." His thumb carefully began brushing against the palm of my hand, as if asking for permission. "I'd just seen the war get real, you know? I mean training is one thing, small skirmishes are a fun anecdote, but real battles... Killing men and women just like me, but who wear different colours. When I got posted here, I was so relieved... Then Oblivion burned in front of me, my childhood best friend tried to kill me and I let him roast to death. I needed a safe haven, but one that I could protect myself, you know? A tiny garden, untouched by the war, that smelled of pine trees and milk thistle."

"So you decided to turn me into that garden." I cut off, remembering how much he'd annoyed me the night of the dragon attack.

"And forgot to ask for your permission."

"And made me feel underestimated in the process - so instead, I burned the pine trees. And I had done everything I could to fuel that fantasy of yours. I felt helpless and abandoned and had just seen Oblivion unfold too, so... We both took whatever shelter we could get."

"My uncle would've sheltered you anyway, you know that."

"There's more to shelter than food and a roof. Also, freeloading's not my style"

He chuckled.

"Aye. So you didn't mean to make yourself younger and weaker, and I didn't mean to want to keep you that way. Still didn't give me the right to..."

"Accuse me of shagging Jarl Siddgeir over a couple of pretty necklaces? Not really. I thought you better than that."

No, I promised Aela I would not try to reopen these old wounds! And yet, they stung.

I mean, I did shag Siddgeir, but it wasn't just about a necklace.

"I shouldn't have done that. Resentment got the better of me, and I chose to act like a kid about it. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted. You're not the first man ever to resent a jarl. They do hold all the power, after all." I was more than ready to move the conversation onto happier territory, all his guilt established, and reached for the pitcher to offer him more ale.

He caught it faster, and began filling up my tankard instead.

"Screw the Jarl, my sweet Sira. It was you I resented."

I stared at him blankly. He continued.

"While I was stuck here serving as a glorified bodyguard, mulling over the little garden that I could not protect, you went off to join the Companions, built a small fortune out of nowhere and became a bloody legend. I endured months of bad news, unable to lift a finger about all the disastrous reports I overheard, while the bards wrote songs of the fair and strong Dovahkiin. It was quite clear you were above my protection, and it stung."

That intense, unapologetic frankness of his should be enough to want me keep him － or kill him.

"You've given this an awful amount of thought." I said, more to myself.

"You could say the problem was that I've had too much time to think of it."

"Well, that time's almost over now. You said you only have a fortnight left here?"

"19 days, to be exact. And then, once more into danger."

Everything, from the tips of his bushy eyebrows to the calloused hands grabbing his goblet, screamed dread and defeat. The man who is about to die is giving his farewells, Sira.

"Sometimes, I think... Nay, I imagine" he continued, as he dipped a piece of bread into the last spoonfuls of broth - which he seemed to be savouring with the intensity that only a dying man could, "That both the General and Jarl Ulfric will at last come around, and we'll call a truce with the Stormcloaks, join forces for just a little while, and take care of some of these dragons."

He was probably trying to be funny, but bitterness still dripped from his tone. I should not have laughed so loudly, but that was the most beautiful thing he'd said all night, amidst all his apologies.

Why, my stubborn soldier, couldn't you say that two hours ago? It would've saved me a very expensive dinner tab and the macabre mood that had overtaken our dinner.

"What if I told you that you can help me accomplish just that?"

He winced a bit, almost involuntarily, and looked up - but his hand kept holding mine.

"Oh, Sira, what are you plotting this time?"

"Just an audience with General Tullius."

"I knew you couldn't just be here to buy grain for Whiterun."

"I never said I was. I said officially I was here to arrange that, but I'd hoped you'd spent enough time by Tullius' side to get that."

I rushed another sip, mostly to keep myself from blabbing too much.

"Fair enough. You think I can just get you a meeting with him and you'll charm him into ending the war?"

"Do you not think me sweet enough for that?" I tried to joke coyly, but his expression made it clear it was not working. "Well, me neither. We'll be happy enough with a truce, really."

"We? As in you, the Companions, and whoever it was that put you to pester the Thalmor?"

"No, as in me and the Greybeards. I just need Tullius to agree to come to a summit in High Hrothgar, and then... Ideally, we'll all put down our weapons there, at least until Alduin's blasted into pieces."

"That would be amazing, but I doubt someone as bloodthirsty as Ulfric Stormcloak would even consider it. If you must try..."

"He already said yes."

He blinked, evidently shocked. Stop underestimating me already, dying boy.

"So are you about to allow Tullius to discredit himself as the unreasonable one?" I continued.

"I'll get you the audience. I'll do anything I can to help you, of course."

Soup bowls empty and bread tray taken away, there's nothing left holding our evening other than our fingers, which refuse to let go.

"There's still a bit of wine left." I said, after clearing my throat. "It seems like I can't give you any tomorrow beyond that."

He gulped it down in one long chug - it had been more a third of the bottle, really.

"Divines, Sira. What do I have to offer so you'll let me wait for tomorrow upstairs?"

Ah, is it always going to take us this long?

"Ask, you thick Nord." I turned around, looking for Aela's smirk or Marcurio's indiscreet ears hiding behind a column. "Let's go."

* * *

Once it was just us and a bed, there was little need left to overpower each other. Instead, we slowly acknowledged the past eleven months and their effects on each other. I clung to the angles of Hadvar's body that had gone slightly soft due to idleness and studied the tiny creases around his eyes caused by worry - I didn't mention them or paid them any special homage, I just took them as part of the package. He was still trained to kill and raised to bend steel, but he would only respond to honest affection with tenderness.

As he took me, he kissed every new bit of scarred skin I'd acquired, but only after slowly caressing the surrounding muscle. The Dragonborn could not be kept safe, not with a dozen dragon souls insisting on burning the pine saplings before they had a chance to take root, but he was eager to keep cherishing Sira.

There was no urgency as we moved from the fully-clothed doors of my room to the bare-skinned center of our bed. There was plenty of hunger but no thirst in our kisses, and to be perfectly honest, there was little raw strength before reaching climax.

It was not a bad thing: we simply sort of melted into each other. Each time, I was left unable to speak, trying to steady my breathing as silently as possible, unwilling to acknowledge the passing of time in any way. I saw him smile as he fell asleep right in front of me, and I did my best to stay awake for as long as I could - it felt like a waste of time, to use our last hours together fighting the jittery naps that the beast blood would allow.

The beast eventually allowed me a short respite, but I woke to a soft, sad aversion to mortality.


End file.
